


Pass/Fail

by BiteMeMarvelCanon



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:20:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7936294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiteMeMarvelCanon/pseuds/BiteMeMarvelCanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prof. Margaret Carter has just about lost patience with the students in her dull morning seminar. Can an opinionated student stimulate her interest in the subject again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Steggy college AU inspired by these posts:
> 
> http://steggyisimmortal.tumblr.com/post/148595532074/cougarpeggy-au-where-steve-after-serving-in

"Dammit," Peggy swore as she put her new boot right into a puddle. It was pouring rain and she was running late. Curse that scheduling assistant for giving her a 9am class on the other side of campus. She hated morning classes. And also mornings.

And she was not looking forward to this particular class. Her grad intro had been trying her patience recently. Getting any discussion out of them was like pulling teeth. She had no interest in standing there talking to herself if they weren't going to meet her halfway. They were graduate students, for God's sake.

And then after class, she had a two-hour defense with that ass, Jack Thompson, chairing the committee. She vowed never to be on a committee with him again; he prolonged every meeting. He loved the sound of his own voice as much as he loved showing off for the students. It was shaping up to be a lovely day, all right.

She clutched her coffee protectively to her chest as she reached the building at last. She barreled into the room at nine on the dot. She never entered a classroom timidly, no matter what her mood was.

Attendance was a little thin today, probably due to the rain. Nevertheless, with some effort she had managed to fan a couple of half-hearted questions on the reading into some semblance of a discussion for the first fifteen minutes. She was holding out some hope that she might survive the next hour when the flow of the class was interrupted by the door opening.

Peggy hated it when someone came late. It distracted her and often made her lose her train of thought. It was that tall blond boy who never said anything, Rogers. She tried to ignore it and continue talking, but the class' attention was fixed on the newcomer. They were seated in a semi-circle so that they could all face each other, but there weren't any more seats. So he had to get a desk from the other side of the room and bring it over. Then two other students had to move their desks apart so that he could join the group. It was thoroughly disruptive, involving the screeching of various desks on the floor. Rogers slouched through the whole rigamarole, as if he was trying to make himself less noticeable. It didn't work.

The interruption probably lasted 30 seconds but seemed like five minutes. Finally, it was over.

"So, I'd like to move on and talk about to the article assigned for today. The author's premise, that--" Rogers said something to the young man next to him, who snickered. That was the last straw for Peggy. Usually she would let something like that pass, and if she did say anything, she would do it after class, privately with the student. But she had had it with Rogers. He had contributed absolutely nothing to this class except for disruptions.

"What did you say, Mr. Rogers?" He blushed, but otherwise seemed unconcerned that she had singled him out.

"Captain Rogers," he corrected her.

She just stared at him. Not only had he not apologized, but he was correcting her. " You told us on the first day that we should let you know how we'd like to be addressed. And that you prefer Dr. or Prof. Carter, not Ms. Carter. And I prefer to be addressed as Captain Rogers."

Peggy rolled her eyes, but continued, "Very well, Captain Rogers, do you have something to share with the rest of the class?"

"Yes. I think the author's premise is totally wrong, and ignores the reality of warfare in the field. I don't think he has any idea what he's talking about."

"And you know this how?"

"Well, I've been in actual situations in which applying his ideas would have gotten everyone around me killed, and--"

"You are aware that practical experience does not necessarily, or even very often, equate with theoretical expertise?"

"Yes, but any theoretical framework that's worth anything has to have a practical application."

"Oh, I wasn't aware that you had determined the criteria we were to use to judge theoretical frameworks, already in your first semester of graduate school."

"No, I haven't," he said smiling, "but I know when something's no good."

The gall of this man, basically saying the article she had assigned was worthless. And to top it off, he didn't seem intimidated by her in the least. She didn't really want her students to be intimidated, of course, and usually she welcomed disagreement. But not today, and not from this student, who had chosen the worst possible time to start airing his ill-considered opinions. It was time to shut this down.

"Well, I'm sorry that you think that the article was a waste of your time,--" she said icily.

"Oh, I don't think your class could ever be a waste of my time," he replied seriously.

"--But we need to move on. If you have further questions about this topic, you can see me after class. Let's take a look at the description on page 497..."

The rest of the class was uneventful. Immediately after class, as she was gathering her things, Captain Rogers was suddenly at her elbow.

"Will you be available in your office tomorrow during your office hours?"

"Yes, that's generally why they're called office hours," she retorted.

"I'd like to stop by to discuss this article further."

"All right," Peggy replied, eager to be done with the interaction. "See you then."

She turned on her heel and left the classroom, not listening to his answer. She was sure he wouldn't come to office hours. No one ever did.

 


	2. Chapter 2

She slid into the booth with a shiver. It was still pouring outside and unseasonably cold for October, but maybe some hot food would help. She had only glanced down at the menu when she heard, rather than saw, Angie arriving. There was a blast of air from the door opening, then the sound of someone closing an umbrella and loudly declaring to no one in particular "I feel like a drowned rat. Probably look like one too!" She said this with an obscene amount of good cheer. Angie was hardly ever in a bad mood, something that Peggy envied but would have irritated her if Angie weren't so open and genuine.

She and Angie had met at a new faculty orientation seven years ago. They had immediately bonded over a shared hatred of the admin-speak used at their university: global synergies, learning outcome assessments, mission statements for impactful initiatives. They had even made a drinking game out it with their coffee, although Peggy had had to switch to tea halfway through a particularly long-winded speaker before she got too jittery.

Angie, a linguist, had been new to the university then, just as Peggy had. But she had already spent three years in another position, so she was a little ahead of Peggy career-wise. She had seen Peggy through a bad break-up and the agonizing waiting of her tenure review last year.

"You wouldn't believe the day I've had--" Peggy started without introduction.

"Oh, wouldn't I? Look at this," Angie said, showing Peggy a unsightly run in her black tights.

"My new boots," Peggy countered, showing her the water stains.

"I drove in early to meet with someone who didn't show."

"A student basically announced in open class that the article I assigned was garbage."

"My department head asked me to serve on a 'task force' on 'synergies.' "

"I had a two-hour defense with Thompson."

"You win," Angie conceded, throwing up her arms. "Poor thing!"

The hot spinach lasagna that was served in a scalding hot pan straight from the oven was quite possibly the best thing that Peggy had ever tasted. Angie looked similarly enamored of her steaming bowl of pasta. They had already covered their chief complaints of the day and were eating in companionable silence.  
  
"So what's this about a student saying the reading was no good? Was in that seminar that's giving you fits? " Angie asked between bites.

"Yes. This student who hasn't opened his mouth all semester suddenly decides to favor us with some comments, and more-or-less says the article is rubbish because it doesn't match his own practical experience. So I said, 'Well I'm sorry I bored you with it,' and he says 'I don't think I could ever be bored in your class.' What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Who knows what goes on in their heads?" Angie answered, concentrating on swirling another large forkful of pasta, "I gave up trying to figure that out a while ago. Don't get paid enough. But you should seriously lock that down if it happens again. Otherwise you'll have a revolt on your hands."

"I know."

They ate quietly for a while. "Peggy," Angie started tentatively, "how are you doing in general?"

"Fine. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I just know how it is, after tenure. Some people feel a little burnt out by everything. Or a lot burnt out. I know I was ready for a break from the routine; I nearly bit people's heads off. And you won't have your sabbatical until next year."

"I don't know. Maybe I just work with some assholes and have annoying students this semester."

"Maybe," Angie agreed, but she still looked concerned. "Just take it easy."

  
***

There were only ten minutes left in her Tuesday office hours. Obviously no one was coming, and she was more than ready to go home. She was literally watching the clock on her laptop, counting the minutes until she could leave. Maybe she was a little burnt out, as Angie had said.

She closed her laptop and slid it into her messenger bag as she grabbed her jacket off its hook. She opened the door, hoping to get through the short length of hallway that separated her office from the exterior door without seeing anyone, when she almost walked into a brown leather jacket.

She looked up to see the person wearing the jacket was her current least-favorite student. She had to crane her neck a bit to look him in the eye. It was surprising; she often had no idea if her students were tall or short since they were always sitting down.

"I was just on my way out."

"Oh, it will only take a few minutes. And your office hours don't end for another ten minutes, right?"

She sighed and stepped to the side to let him in. She hung her jacket back up, set her bag down, and sat down heavily in the chair. She motioned him to another chair and cocked her eyebrow at him expectantly. It was rude and unfair to boot, but she wanted to let him know she wasn't pleased about being held up.

He was completely oblivious to her irritation and started in with several questions about the reading. They weren't half-bad, and a good fifteen minutes passed in a fairly straightforward exchange of information.

"I also was wondering about what you said about the criteria to use for evaluating a theoretical model."

"Yes, my point is that not all theories work the same. You were assuming that any good theory has to predict, but many theoretical models are actually designed to understand something after the fact. You were assuming that all theoretical models have the same goals in mind. Now, theory-building is certainly not my speciality, but unless it's yours, you might want to think on it a bit more."

"Do you have any recommendations for something I could read about evaluating different kinds of theories?"

"This would be a good place to start," she said, plucking a book off one of her bookcases and handing it to him.

He flipped through it. "Can I borrow this for a while?"

"I don't usually lend out books to students. The library is across the quad."

"I'll be careful with it," he answered, already starting to read a page.

She sighed again. This man was exasperating. Anything to get him out of her office. It would be easier to repurchase the book if she had to, rather than argue about it. "All right; I suppose I can make an exception. But I do want it back."

"Don't worry," he said with a smile. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Did you have anything else you wanted to ask me about?" Peggy asked, eager to be done and on her way home.

He took the hint, standing up and tucking the book under his arm. "No, that's it.

"Well then, I'll see you in class," she said, also standing.

"Thank you for meeting with me," he said, suddenly sincere and rather formal. "I'll get the book back to you as soon as I can."

"Just don't set your coffee on it. I'd like it back in good condition," was her less-than-gracious answer.

"Thanks," he said, smiling and waving the book in the air a little as he left. "I promise not to spill coffee on it. Maybe beer, but definitely not coffee."

***  
Her office hours on the following Tuesday started out with a nice, simple undergraduate advising appointment. When she saw that student out, she was surprised, and yet not surprised, to see Rogers waiting in the hallway.

He breezed into her office, not waiting for an invitation. "I brought your book back", he said by way of explanation. "No coffee stains, no beer stains. Didn't drop it in the bathtub. Mint condition," he said, setting it on her desk and rapping it on the cover.

He grinned at her as if this were some sort of an accomplishment, rather than the minimum one would expect. She didn't really want to know if her book had been in the proximity of any of those dangers.

She closed her eyes part way and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She had a splitting headache.

"What's wrong?" He asked, seeming genuinely concerned.

"It's nothing. I have a headache. What can I help you with?"

"A tension headache?"

"I don't know."

"Is it behind one eye? Could be a migraine. Weather's supposed to clear up tomorrow. That can be a migraine trigger. Did you have any red wine last night?"

He was talking much too quickly for her current state of mind. "What? I-- We're not here to discuss my eating habits, Captain."

"Sorry."

"And what are you, some kind of weird headache aficionado?"

"Not exactly. I get migraines sometimes, and it was a long time until I figured out what they were. So I'm eager to spread the word, just in case somebody else is in the same situation."

"I think it's just a regular headache. My friend thinks I'm a little burnt out." She had no idea why she was telling him this.

"Why?"

"She thinks it's part of the aftermath of getting tenure."

"I thought getting tenure was supposed to be a good thing."

"Well, in a research university like this one, you either get tenure, or you get fired. So I'm basically coming off of a seven-year job interview. You have about five years to publish, then the department sends off everything you've done to experts in your field all over the country, and they write confidential letters that you can't see in which they say whether they think you should get tenure. Then during a whole academic year, people read the letters and look at your record and vote on you."

"And now that you're tenured?"

"Now everyone dumps more administrative work on you because you're no longer under the pressure to get tenure."

"That does sound like a recipe for burnout."

"Yes," she said, rubbing her neck. "But I shouldn't be complaining. It is a good thing." She sat up straighter and put on a more businesslike tone. "But none of this is your problem, nor is it why you stopped by. What can I help you with?"

"You know what, it'll keep," he said, getting up. "If that's a tension headache, you need a massage," he said.

She just stared at him, looking surprised.

It suddenly hit him that it sounded like he was offering to rub her neck. "That is," he said, moving quickly towards the door, "Why don't you go home early, or get a massage for that headache. Looks like you could use one. I'll see you in class tomorrow."

"All right," she said as she stood. "Have a good evening."

"You too, Professor."

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

The morning had been gloriously sunny for a change, and the crispness in the air hinted at a pleasant fall. So of course when she emerged from lunch at the student union, the weather had turned, and it was, once again, raining cats and dogs. And of course she did not have an umbrella. She joined a crowd of people in a similar situation waiting out the rain under an awning. As she stood looking out at the downpour, she wondered what to do. If she had to wait too long, she would be late for her next class.

"Hi, Professor," a voice behind her, near her ear, interrupted her thoughts.

"Hello, Captain," she said, barely turning her head around.

"Stuck in the rain?" He asked, with his usual talent for stating the obvious.

"Yes, and I'm going to be late for my class if it doesn't let up soon," she replied, glancing at her watch.

"No umbrella?"

"No, I have one, I just don't like to get it wet."

He smiled. "You can have mine," he said, pulling a mini umbrella out of his jacket and holding it out to her.

She stared at it. "What are you going to use? Don't you have another class?"

"I do, but I can wait it out. I'll be a few minutes late. Or I'll just make a run for it," he said, turning up his collar.

"I won't be responsible for you being late to someone else's class, or for arriving there soaking wet."

"Well, where's your class?"

"The history building."

"We could go...at the same time."

"Very well, then," Peggy said with a sigh. The entire situation was mortifying, but it couldn't be helped.

She held the umbrella a few inches above his head as they walked as quickly as possible through the rain. She was acutely aware of him walking closely behind her, arm raised slightly, not touching her, but blocking the rain blowing from behind.

They reached the building at last. She surveyed her clothes, which were surprisingly dry. She was still closing the umbrella when he rushed off to his class, his wet shoes half-sliding, half-running as he headed down the hallway.

"Your umbrella!" She called.

"Keep it. You might need it later."

She was off to her own class. What an odd piece of work he was.

***

They were both at class early the next morning. It was five minutes before class was to start, and Steve was chatting with another student.

Peggy walked over to him and handed him his umbrella. "Thank you, Captain Rogers," was all she said to him.

"Mr. Wilson," she said, nodding, then turned on her heel and went back to the front of the classroom.

Sam was staring at the umbrella. "Are you going to tell me or do I have to ask?"

"It's nothing."

"Why did she have your umbrella?"

"I ran into her on campus yesterday, when it was really pouring. She didn't have an umbrella, and she was going to be late for her other class, so I gave it to her."

"When you saw her, why didn't you just run the other way?"

"Why would I?"

"Because she's one of them. There's us and then there's them. We have an understanding. Outside of class, they don't bother us, and we don't bother them."

"She's just a person. No one was born a college professor."

"In her case, I'm not so sure," Sam replied, eyeing Peggy suspiciously.

Steve had left out a few details. How he had been standing so close to her under the umbrella that he could smell her perfume. How when he caught a whiff of that same perfume just now when she came over to them that he was immediately taken back to that moment. That he hadn't minded walking home without his umbrella even though he had been soaked to the skin.


	4. Chapter 4

Peggy walked into the restaurant that she hadn't been to in a year. It had been their place, hers and Daniel's. Actually, she corrected herself mentally, it had been his favorite, and it had grown on her.

"How many?" Asked the hostess.

"Just me."

She settled into her seat, ordering a glass of red wine, and one of her old favorite dishes.

She remembered one of the first times Daniel Sousa had brought her here. They had known each other for months already, but weren't dating. She was in her second year, complaining about how more demanding course assignments were dumped on newer professors, like herself. She had really just wanted to vent, but he had interrupted her. "Why don't I talk to Jack Thompson, in your department. He's an old friend of mine. I can ask him to put in a word for you about course assignments."

"I'd prefer to handle it myself, actually." She said.

They had finally started dating a year and a half after they had met. She had been reluctant to get involved in that way. She was in the most demanding part of her career, and didn't want to feel guilty about spending time on her work, or guilty about short changing a relationship.

But she was lonely, and he was a good guy, and, and...

As time passed, she worried what would happen if she didn't get tenure. She would have to leave and try to get another job, maybe even outside of academia. Daniel wasn't mobile; he was a tenured professor of accounting. She knew if she didn't get tenure, she would have to choose between leaving him and who knows what kind of miserable job in this small town. She would be a failed hanger-on, seeing her successful colleagues at parties.  
  
When she spun these nightmare scenarios for herself, Daniel had always reassured her that things would work out. He had said that he could even look for another job himself and trail her; there were many more jobs available in his field than in hers.

She had believed him. She had cared for him, but more than that, she had trusted him.

But things had turned out a little differently than she expected. Just when her book had been published, and when it finally looked as if they might both have secure jobs in the same place, solving the "two body problem" of academic couples, he was offered another job on the other side of the country. It was a fantastic opportunity in a sunny location with a significant pay raise. He said he had applied just to test the waters, but now the offer was too good to turn down.

He hadn't broken up with her. He had urged her to quit her job and come with him. She had been incensed that he was asking her to quit, just when she was approaching her goal. That was when things had turned ugly between them. He had told her she was being ridiculous, that he made more than enough money for both of them, and she could still write history books as a "hobby." She had told him he could quit and practice his own career as a "hobby." She had said he was sexist and didn't consider her career as important as his. He had said she was ungrateful, and that he wasn't sexist but writing history books that all of a dozen people would ever read was a hobby.

So here she was, 40, alone in a rural Midwestern college town. She still looked pretty good, she thought, but she had started checking obsessively in the mirror for gray hair and wrinkles.

There weren't a lot of dating prospects in an area like this, and even fewer her age. She could try to move, of course. But tenure-track jobs in academia were rare and become rarer. Finding one in a geographically desirable location was as likely as finding a unicorn.

She had the strange sensation she had missed some sort of window of opportunity that she didn't know was closing. She had fought and fought for success in her career, but she had always wanted a family, too. Somehow it hadn't happened, and she couldn't figure out what exactly had gone wrong. Now that she had it, tenure seemed less like a crowning achievement and more like a life sentence.

The food arrived. She only ate a few bites and just tasted her wine. She paid the bill and left. Somehow it wasn't as good as she had remembered.

***

Steve had finished his seminar readings and taken detailed notes. He sipped at his coffee and looked around the cafe. Now he needed to review the notes and come up with some questions. He started to write down the first question when he imagined himself asking it in class. She might be standing in the front, wearing one of a fitted suit jacket, her eyes fixed on him, her perfect lips drawn to a line. Or she might be sitting on the table in front as she sometimes did, wearing a skirt, her legs crossed at the ankle and swinging slowly back and forth. She might have her hair down, moving with her when she turned, or up, showing her elegant neck. He sighed and put his notebook and pen down. He got a smaller notebook and a pencil out of his bag. It was his sketchbook. He started to draw her in different poses in the classroom. He really didn't have time for this, but he clearly wasn't going to get any more work done until he got this out of his head.

He was working away for he didn't know how long when Sam appeared at the table and sat down across from him with a coffee.

"Hey man, didn't expect to see you here."

"My four o'clock class was canceled, so I thought I'd catch up on work."

"That doesn't look like work. What are you drawing?"

"People."

"Can I see?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Steve kept drawing.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a great conversationalist?"

"No."

"I wonder why."

"Maybe they think it's so obvious, they don't need to say it," he said evenly, still sketching and not taking his eyes from the paper.

"Maybe. Seriously, you going to put that down and talk to me?"

"In a minute. I'm almost done."

Sam sipped his coffee and flipped through Steve's books as he waited. True to his word, he did set the sketchbook down after a few minutes.

He carefully tucked his sketchbook away in his bag. Sam was one of his closest friends from the military, and now both his fellow student and roommate. He trusted him, but he might...misinterpret the fact that Steve had been drawing their professor. It didn't mean anything. She just happened to be an interesting subject.

***

Peggy settled down on her old and very cozy couch, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. Angie was sideways on the nearest chair, her legs hanging over the arm.

"How was work?" Angie asked.

Peggy shrugged. "Not bad. Office hours were busy. That student that criticized the article in class has been coming in a lot."

"Well if you try to pretend you're not there, make sure to turn off the overhead light. Some of them will look under the door. Ask me how I know."

Peggy laughed. "No, it's ok. It's only during my regular office hours, and I kind of brought it on myself. He was asking for more reading suggestions, and I said that he should learn German. Then I pointed out that the best way to do it was to study it himself since the reading knowledge course isn't being offered and the regular sequence wouldn't be efficient for that. So now he's coming in with German questions."

Peggy reached for the milk on the table and added a generous amount to her tea, which was now cool enough to sip. "How was your day?"

'"Task force' meeting," Angie said, raising her eyes heavenwards. "I took detailed notes. Would you like me to read them to you?" Angie deadpanned, reaching for her bag.

"No, that's quite all right," Peggy said, laughing again.

Angie leaned over the coffee table, adding milk and sugar to her tea.  
  
"I went over to the grill the other night," Peggy began, staring into her cup.  
  
"Have you heard from him recently?"

Peggy shook her head. "Just an email on my last birthday. I hadn't been over there since he left."

"It takes quite a while to get over a broken heart. It always takes me a while."

"I've been thinking about that. I don't think he broke my heart as much as he broke something else."

Angie looked at her, waiting.

"My trust. Or my faith in people, or something like that. I trusted him, that he wasn't the kind of person to be so calculating, to put his career first."

"Interesting."

"And I never noticed all of the little signs that he didn't take my work, and how important it is to me, seriously. It makes me wonder if there's anybody left who's not just out for themselves."

"Mmmm," was all Angie said in reply.

"By the way, I know you never really liked him when we were dating."

"I never said any such thing."

"I know. You didn't have to. You have a terrible poker face. And if that weren't enough, then the way you clam up when I criticize him is further evidence. I've never seen you so lacking in opinions."

"Fine. If you want me to say it, I will. He wasn't good enough for you. I don't think he really made you happy, not how you deserve to be. I think you're better off now, even though it might have been rough going for a while."

"Don't hold back, tell me how you really feel."

"You asked."

"Yes, and I do appreciate it, really. I trust your opinion, you know, more than you probably realize."

"As the Poet said, 'it's a matter of trust.' "

"I don't remember that from Shakespeare."

Not Shakespeare, Angie said, taking a large sip of tea, "Billy Joel."

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

It was a beautiful fall day outside. Why was it that the most beautiful days always coincided with her classes or office hours?

Exactly five minutes after her office hours had begun, there was a knock on Peggy's door. She rose and opened it to see Rogers. "Captain," she nodded cordially, motioning him in. "Professor," he replied, returning the nod. He had been to her office hours before with questions about the class readings, but the last two times he had arrived near the beginning and had stayed almost to the end as there hadn't been any other students who wanted to speak with her.

The turning point had been when she had suggested he try studying German on his own if he wanted reading knowledge of it for his graduate studies. Last week he had come in with several library books and printouts of other possibilities, asking for her opinion on whether they would be good choices. Now that he had selected a book, he was back with questions about pronunciation and the first lesson, which he had completed on his own.

Peggy somehow didn't mind. Maybe it was the topic of language learning, which made her remember her undergraduate years with fondness. There was also something about being around Rogers that was surprisingly comfortable. He didn't really treat her like she was his professor, more like she was just another person. At first she had mistaken his attitude for arrogance, but now she realized that he was just rather informal.

"So I still don't understand how to pronounce this 'ch' sound," Steve said. "The book says it can be pronounced kind of like the 'h' in humid or kind of like the 'ch' in Scottish 'loch'. But when I listened to examples online, they didn't sound like that to me. I can hear a difference but I can't produce it."

"Yes, that's tricky. And you shouldn't worry if it takes you a while to get it. There are two ways to pronounce 'ch' when you see it written in a word. In German the first one is called the _ich_ sound because it's used in the word _ich_. That's the one they're saying is close to the h in humid. But you have to put your tongue higher against the roof of the mouth, and also push more air through, like this: _ich_ ," she demonstrated, exaggerating the sound. He tried to imitate it.

"That's good," Peggy said encouragingly. "Now the other sound is called the _ach_ sound. It's like if you make a k but you don't stop the air; you let it flow. So start with a k and then blow air through your throat; your tongue will be flat on the bottom of your mouth." She demonstrated it.

He imitated her once and started coughing.

They both laughed. "That's not bad," Peggy said, "but remember to leave out the cough."

"How do you know so much about German?" he asked.

"It was my undergraduate major, along with history, and then I studied there for a year."

"When was that?"

"Oh, it was a while ago...I was just out of undergrad." Peggy wasn't sure why, but she wanted to change the topic. It was so long ago, and she had been so young and carefree, discovering a new country, traveling, meeting new, interesting people all the time. She stared out her office window for a moment. Would she ever have an adventure like that again? Suddenly aware of how she had let the conversation lapse, she shook herself out of her reverie. "Did you have any other pronunciation questions?" she asked.

***

The next day was as beautiful as the last, so of course Peggy had a full day of teaching ahead. Leaves crunched under her feet as she walked to her nine o'clock seminar. She had woken up early and didn't feel as dependent on her coffee this morning. It was likely the combination of crisp, cool air and sunshine that had energized her.

It was about three-quarters of the way through the class when Peggy asked if there were any further questions on the book chapter that they had read.

Rogers signaled to her and she gestured at him to go ahead. "I have a question about the _Kaiserschlacht_ strategy the author discussed," he said. "Am I pronouncing that right?"

" _Kaiserschlacht_ ," Peggy repeated. He knew that he had said it differently.

" _Kaiserschlacht_ , is that it? What did you say in office hours about where I should put my tongue?"

Heads turned in his direction from all over the classroom. It was too late when he realized his double entendre. Sam was silently freaking out next to him; his eyes looked like they were about to jump out of their sockets. Steve's cheeks felt hot, and he was sure that he was blushing beet red.

"I'm quite certain no one in this class cares where you put your tongue, Captain," she replied without missing a beat, standing ramrod straight, a picture of frosty reserve. The students' heads snapped towards her, and he heard a few snickers. "But if you're talking about the pronunciation of the German _ich_ sound and _ach_ sound, which you asked me about in office hours, then one's tongue is positioned near the roof of the mouth for the ich sound and low for the ach sound, which is made in the back of the throat."

She moved to the board to explain the details to the class further, and everything settled down. The students were soon bored with the technical explanation. Only Sam was still alternately staring at him and shaking his head.

Peggy finished her explanation. "Since this isn't a German class, we need to get back to the topic for today." She didn't add, as she usually did, that anyone with questions could see her in her office hours. Steve didn't speak for the rest of the session.

When class was over, Peggy shook her head slightly as she gathered her things. Well, she had wanted more participation from the students. Be careful what you wish for, she thought. She had to admit that the class had certainly been more...lively since Rogers had started talking.

As soon as class was finished, Steve had tried to make a quick exit, but Sam was right on his heels.

"We need to have a talk, young man."

"Not right now, I have stuff to do."

"No you don't. But I do. I'll see you later at home."

***

Steve was eating dinner when Sam got back. Sam dumped his bag down on the table.

"Do you want some chili?" Steve asked, indicating the pot on the stove.

"Don't try to distract me with chili. What was that in class?"

"What? I just misspoke. It was embarrassing, sure, but she explained it. No big deal."

"No big deal, huh? That was one hell of a slip of the tongue, if you'll pardon the expression."

Steve said nothing.

"Who were you drawing the other day when I ran into you at the coffee shop?"

"Nobody in particular. Besides, what does that have to do with this?"

"You tell me."

More silence.

"You know, I've never seen you so secretive about your drawing."

Steve shrugged.

"Or so generous with your umbrella." Sam waited.

"All right, all right," Steve finally said, setting down his bowl. "So I might have a small, a very small, crush on our professor. It doesn't mean anything. It happens to people all the time. I don't know why you're making a federal case out of it."

"You're right. It probably does happen all the time and is no big deal. But it doesn't happen all the time to _you_."

"What are you trying to say?"

"One, that I've never seen you act so weird over a girl, or a woman, or...whatever she is. And two, that she's noticed, or something. I've been watching you two, after the umbrella thing. There's something going on with her. It's nothing she does or says to you, but there's a look she gives you, sometimes even when you're not looking."

"What look?" Steve asked, interested in the conversation for the first time.

"I don't know, like she's human or something. My point is, you're playing with fire. What if she's married?"

"She doesn't wear a ring, and her name has never changed on her publications since grad school."

"Sounds like you've given this a lot of thought."

"I just happened to notice. I'm an observant guy."

"Right, just happened to notice. Lot of strange coincidences between you and her. As my dad used to say when I wrecked the car, once could happen to anyone. Twice is a matter for concern. Three times is a pattern."

"Don't worry about me. I'm not going to 'wreck the car.' "

"Just be careful. Worship her from afar if you can't help it. Anything else, keep it under wraps till the semester's over. I've seen that look on your face before, that determined look, and it always means trouble. Usually for me. I don't want to end up getting interviewed by some dean about a scandal."

"Yes sir," Steve said, saluting Sam with his spoon.

Sam headed into the kitchen, muttering something about "fraternizing."

"Now let's see what you put in this chili," Sam said, lifting the lid off the pot and smiling for the first time.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

October's stained-glass colors were starting to give way to the bare gray of November. Peggy pulled her scarf a little tighter around her neck as she walked from the parking garage to the student union.

She had gone home for a quick break before the conference dinner. It had been a good conference so far, if she did say so herself. The theme was points of intersection between the humanities and sciences and had drawn in a wide variety of interesting talks. Peggy was one of the co-organizers. She had done more than her share of the work, as usual, and Thompson had taken more than his share of the credit, also as usual.

Peggy had jokingly asked Angie if she wanted to come to the dinner. "I know how you love conferences and institutional food."

"Rubber chicken and academics droning on about their research? No thanks," Angie had replied. "I can get that just about anywhere in this town."

Peggy sighed softly as she reached the hallway outside the ballroom. The last two days had been exhausting, and the dinner she was headed to was the last major event of the conference. The registration table outside of the ballroom was a mess. Conference programs, scraps of paper, and half-empty coffee cups were everywhere. Peggy stopped to tidy up the pile of programs and throw away the trash before going into dinner.

She was nearly done when Jack Thompson, who was leading a group of people into the ballroom, spotted her.

"Thanks for your help with the conference, Peggy. You're so good at taking care of the little details."

She didn't dignify his comment with an answer. Condescending bastard.

"When you're done there, come on in to the table up front and sit with me. It's been so long since we really _talked_. Since Daniel left."

"No thank you," she said, stiffening. "I'm going to catch up with an old friend."

"Thompson, you glorified TA," a deep, gravely voice barked. "Stop bothering Carter. There's someone looking for you in the ballroom. Better get in there immediately." The voice belonged to Professor Chester Phillips, the department head.

As soon as Thompson was out of earshot, Peggy turned to Phillips. "Thank you," she said. Phillips grunted in acknowledgement and headed in himself.

She had gotten to know Thompson socially through Daniel. He and Daniel had been friends for a long time, although as Peggy had observed to Daniel, there wasn't that much friendship in the relationship. They were more like friendly rivals, always trying to subtly one-up each other. Peggy wasn't the least bit interested in Thompson, and she knew he wasn't truly interested in her. He just wanted to be able to tell Daniel that he was sleeping with her. It was utterly disgusting, to be pursued like some trophy.

She settled into her seat at the table and scanned the room for her friend Jane, who was in town for the conference when someone unceremoniously plopped down in the seat she was planning to save for her. God help her, it was "Captain" Rogers. She didn't mind seeing him in office hours, but she was looking forward to talking to Jane.

"Hi," he said with his customary untroubled smile. "Good conference, huh?"

"Actually, you can't sit there; I'm saving that seat for a friend."

"Oh, who?"

"Me," Jane Foster answered from behind them as if summoned. Rogers, to his credit, immediately stood. "Oh, I'll move."

"Please don't," Jane interjected. "There are plenty of seats at the next table, and I actually need to speak with my co-presenter about something." She turned to Peggy, "You and I can get a drink after dinner and catch up."

"Are you sure?" Peggy asked.

"I insist," Jane replied, already walking away.

The entree was already being served. As Angie had predicted, it was rubber chicken, accompanied by a green vegetable and indifferent mashed potatoes. She hoped that when Jane mentioned a drink, that included a real dinner. She poked at the potatoes in silence. Even if she had to sit next to Rogers, she certainly didn't have to say much.

She steeled herself for an hour of mind-numbing small talk.

"So are you married?" Rogers asked her.

She almost choked on a bite of undercooked green bean. After coughing for a while, emphatically refusing his offer to clap her on the back, and taking a drink of water, she resumed pushing food around her plate.

"Did you hear my question?"

"Yes, I'm simply choosing to ignore it."

"Why?"

"Because it's none of your business."

"I like to get to know my teachers. Personal questions are just a good starting point for learning about them as people. I've found that it helps me understand their approach to things."

"That's all well and good, but I don't think that you'd like to answer such personal questions yourself."

"Try me."

"Is that a challenge, Captain?" Peggy Carter had never backed down from a challenge in her life, and she wasn't about to start now.

"Sure," he replied, with a glint in his eye. Steve didn't back down from challenges either.

"Are you married?" she asked.

"Nope," he answered, in between bites of the dreadful food.

"Were you ever married?"

"No."

"Any kids?"

He looked at her, slightly scandalized. She shrugged her shoulders and gestured with an upturned palm, as if to say "you never know."

"No," he replied firmly. She could have sworn he blushed.

This was the first time she had apparently made him uncomfortable, and she was enjoying it. A little too much.

"Ever had a girlfriend?"

"First you imply that I've fathered children out of wedlock, now you imply that I've never even dated anyone?"

"Well, I just like to get to know my students as people. It helps me understand their approach to things." Peggy smiled wickedly. "Unless of course you're saying that personal questions bother you after all, in which case I will gladly withdraw the question, and I can go back to enjoying my meal."

He stared at her appraisingly. "Yes, I've had girlfriends," he replied.

"Have one now?" she continued.

"No."

"Spend a lot of lonely nights, then?"

"Sometimes." That definitely was a blush, but he met her eyes. She had made her point; she stopped. But somehow she felt like she had revealed just as much as she had found out.

Steve recovered his composure. "Now it's your turn..."

"I'll save you the trouble. Not married, never have been. No boyfriend. Now can we talk about something else?"

"Any kids?" he asked with a devilish grin.

"No. None."

"Spend a lot of--"

"Don't you dare," she cut him off before he could repeat her impertinent question. He chuckled quietly to himself.

She was annoyed and fighting a smile at the same time. It wasn't often that she was out-maneuvered; she rather enjoyed it.

She glanced around the table. It was quite loud in the large ballroom. Everyone else at the table appeared to be involved in their own conversations and not listening to what had passed between them, thank God.

Peggy pushed her plate out of the way and reached for the salad and roll that had been waiting at each place. It had to be better than the hot food.

"So now that we've got that out of the way...Hobbies?"

"Don't you think this food is awful?"

"Yes. But I've had worse," he replied, taking another bite. "Hobbies," he repeated, not sidetracked

"In the future, you might want to lead with that question."

She tried to think of what she could say that was true, but would be of the least interest to him so that she could stare at her plate in restful silence.

"Knitting," she finally answered.

"English or continental?"

"You know how to knit?" she asked, astonished.

"My mother taught me. I was pretty sickly as a child, spent a lot of time indoors."

"Yes, you do rather look as though you were wasting away," she said, nodding towards his empty plate and huge frame. He was so muscular the arms of his shirt looked like they might tear open when he reached for his glass.

"I grew out of it," he explained with a shrug. Anyway, knitting. I used to watch my mother. I was fascinated by it, so she taught me."

"So what do you knit?" she was interested in spite of herself.

"Socks, mostly. Where else can you get custom-made wool socks at a reasonable price? They're great for hiking."

"So you're an outdoorsman, then."

"I guess you could say that. I spent so much time inside as a kid, I suppose I'm making up for it."

Coffee and a dry piece of cake were served. Steve started eating the cake without hesitation. Peggy pushed hers away and moved the coffee cup closer. The coffee had to be better than the food.

"Pass the sugar and cream, please," she asked, as he easily retrieved them from the middle of the table.

"What do you like to knit?" he asked.

"Anything and everything. Especially scarves and cowls. My neck is always cold."

"Is it?" he asked distractedly, his gaze fixed on her neck as if he could tell its temperature by sight.

She suddenly felt very self-conscious. "Do you ever knit any jumpers, ah, you know, sweaters?" she asked.

"No, I hardly ever wear sweaters. I run too hot."

"I imagine you do," she replied, leaning back slightly in her seat and tapping her finger on her coffee cup

Thankfully, Jane appeared at her side. "Ready for that drink?" Peggy, startled, actually jumped at the sound of Jane's voice.

"Yes," she replied, standing up a little too quickly. "Good evening, Captain."

"Good evening, Professor," he responded in the same formal tone.

As they headed out of the ball room and through the hallways of the student union, Jane grabbed her arm conspiratorially.

"Who was that man you were talking to?"

"He's not a man, he's one of my students."

"Mm hmm," Jane nodded. "What was going on between you two?" She whispered, after looking around to see if anyone they knew was around.

"Nothing. We were just talking. Polite conversation. Mostly about knitting. Very dull, actually."

"Mm hmm," Jane repeated. " _You_ were _flirting_."

"I was most certainly not."

"Yes you were, and so was he. Shamelessly."

"No we weren't. And how would you know? You couldn't hear us...could you?"

"No, but the _looks_ you were giving each other. I had to fan myself with the conference program."

"Stop exaggerating."

They walked to a local restaurant close to campus that Jane always enjoyed visiting when she was in town, which unfortunately wasn't very often. Peggy and Jane, an astrophysicist, had known each other since grad school but didn't see each other much at conferences due to their very different fields of study.

"How's Thor?" Peggy asked.

Jane's husband Thor was a specialist in Old Norse philology. "Same as always, deep into another project. He's working on a book-length manuscript on Eddic poetry. The good news is that we may be in Europe next summer for his research."

Peggy had nixed any further attempts to discuss "her student." After a dinner far superior to the conference fare and a couple of glasses of wine, Peggy paradoxically wanted to talk about it, and brought the topic up herself.

"So, I just want to make it clear that there's nothing going on between me and that student."

"You mean there's nothing going on _yet_."

"As I've said several times, he's a student. It would be improper, not to mention creepy."

"Yes, but being a student is a temporary condition. I've seen many cured of it, lo these many years," she said with mock seriousness. "And next semester, when he isn't your student anymore, he will still be handsome and charming, and apparently very interested in you."

"You think he's handsome and charming?"

"You do, and that's all that matters. Promise to keep me posted on any further developments."

Peggy wouldn't promise.

 


	7. Chapter 7

"But if we apply the idea of the imagined community to--" Peggy was unable to finish her sentence due to another fit of coughing. She got her arm up in time for the crook of her elbow to take the brunt of it. Several of the students who were sitting closer to her leaned as far as possible back in their seats. "Excuse me," she croaked out. The visitors to the conference the previous weekend had apparently included a vicious cold virus, which was now wreaking havoc on her throat. She probably should have stayed home, but she hated canceling class. If she could walk, she generally taught.

She ended up cutting the class just a little short and announced that she would hold office hours today rather than on Tuesday, as she usually did. Maybe if she was home all day tomorrow, she would start to feel better by Wednesday.

Once she got to her office, she actually laid her head down on her desk. It felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. She didn't expect to see Rogers at her office hours since she had changed the time, but of course there was a knock on her door shortly after her rescheduled office hours had started. She turned her head to yell to him to come in and slowly picked her head up off the desk. He came in holding two paper coffee cups.

"I brought you some tea," he said, holding out one of the cups.

Peggy was taken aback. It wasn't out of the ordinary for a student to bring her a small gift as a thank you for serving on their committee or other help. She had received boxes of biscuits or chocolate from students before, and various coffee mugs that were currently scattered around her office. But somehow this seemed more...personal.

She just stared at the cup. Her stomach felt strangely unsettled. She hoped that it wasn't a new symptom.

"I hope that's ok," he added. "I thought tea was probably better for your throat than coffee, and--You drink tea, don't you? I guess I assumed, since you're English, and..." He realized he was rambling, but the way she was staring at the cup had made him nervous. Had he broken some kind of rule, or offended her somehow?

Peggy recovered and took the cup. "It's perfect, actually. Just what I needed. It's very thoughtful of you. Thank you."

He pulled packets of sugar, honey, and creamer, napkins, and a spoon out of his jacket pocket and laid the whole mess on her desk. "I didn't know how you take your tea, so...here." Then he retreated to his chair.

She thanked him again and began to add some honey to the tea.

He got out his book, but before she could say anything, he launched into a series of questions.

"Why didn't you just cancel class this morning as sick as you are?"

"I thought I was getting better yesterday. And this morning it wouldn't have been enough notice. Besides, I hate to cancel."

"Are you sure you want to have your office hours? You should really just go home and rest. Or to the doctor."

"I'm fine, really. It's just a bad cold."

"Are you sure? Because I can go. There's nothing urgent I have to talk to you about and you should rest your voice."

"Captain Rogers," she began, trying to sound authoritative, but failing as her voice came out alternately as a whisper or a creak, "I'm perfectly capable of conducting office hours. And if you leave, I will still sit here for the duration anyway since I told our class that I would be here."

He looked at her for a moment. "You're stubborn," he finally said. It wasn't a challenge or an accusation, just an observation. It wasn't flirtatious, and there was nothing all that inappropriate about it. But all the same, there was that strange sensation in the pit of her stomach again, and this time she was certain that it wasn't a symptom of whatever virus she had.

In spite of what she had said to Jane, she was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he was not just her student, but a man. A man she was alone with, who had just brought her tea, and who, the last time she had spoken with him, had asked her if she was married or seeing anyone.

Occupied by her thoughts, she still hadn't said anything, and he continued. "Well, how about I read aloud for a while, and you can give me some tips on my pronunciation when I'm finished. That way you won't have to talk too much. You can even close your eyes, put your head down on the desk, whatever."

"All right," she agreed, mainly because she really didn't have the energy to argue. But she couldn't help adding: "You're stubborn too, though, you know."

His only response was a smile as he opened his book.

She leaned her head back a little in the chair as she listened to him read. He was looking down at his book and concentrating on each word, which gave her the opportunity to look at him without seeming like she was staring. He was quite a good-looking man, she had to say.  
She leaned back a little more. The tea had warmed her up and made her feel a little less rotten. He had told her to go ahead and close her eyes, and it seemed to be a lot of work keeping them open. She closed them and listened to his voice. He did have a very pleasant, deep voice.

He looked up at the end of the paragraph to see her leaning pretty far back in her chair with her eyes closed. He paused. She gave no sign that she had noticed he wasn't reading any longer. Could she have fallen asleep? "Professor?" He said, not too loudly so as not to startle her. No response.

She would surely wake up in a minute. He sat silently, looking at her.

She looked pretty rough. Instead of one of her meticulously put-together outfits, she was wearing a shapeless sweater and a simple pair of black pants. It looked like she had missed a few spots when she brushed her hair. Her cheeks were pale and her nose was a little red and irritated. And Steve had never been more captivated by her.

She was always perfectly turned out for class and office hours. Immaculately tailored clothes, her hair styled, makeup, manicure. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. He noticed everything about her, and had drawn her from memory more times than he would like to admit.

But as the weeks went on, his sketches had started to head in a different direction. He wondered what she looked like first thing in the morning, or before she fell asleep at night, her hair messy, no makeup. What did she do at home, when she didn't need to come into campus? He was a little fixated on the idea, wanting to see her in a private moment, not like everyone else did. Would she act differently; would she let her guard down? For a long time, he had just been happy to see her in class and her office hours. But now he found himself wanting to spend time with her outside of a professional setting. Maybe this was what Sam had been warning him about. He hated it when Sam was right.

Seeing her like this was the closest thing to seeing her in an unguarded moment like he had been wanting to, and it was mesmerizing. Somehow she was just as beautiful. He knew he should wake her up and leave. But she looked so peaceful, and she must be so worn out to fall asleep sitting up. He would wait a few minutes, and she would certainly wake up on her own.

Steve was starting to realize that he didn't just have a crush on her, as he had claimed to Sam. Once Sam had raised the idea that she might not be available, he couldn't get it out of his head until he asked her outright at the conference dinner. He had been incredibly relieved to find out she wasn't married or dating anyone.

When he had seen that she was so sick this morning, it had bothered him, far too much, that he couldn't do anything about it. He fidgeted through the hour, frustrated that he couldn't tell her she should go home and rest. Actually, he had wanted to drive her home himself. Even better if he could have made her lunch and tucked her in. None of what he was feeling was typical of a minor crush. God, he really hated it when Sam was right.

"Professor Carter?" The voice seemed to be coming from much too close to her. She opened her eyes to see Rogers standing next to her. She was momentarily confused.

He crouched down next to her so they were almost at eye level. "You fell asleep while I was reading. Your office hours are almost over; you can go home and get some rest." He spoke quietly, as if he was trying not to startle her, and gave her a small smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that," she replied, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

He straightened up and took a step towards the door. She politely started to stand as well, but he waved her off.

"Save your energy; I'll close the door behind me. I hope you feel better soon. See you in class on Wednesday."

Once Steve was out of the office, he turned down the nearest hallway and leaned back against the wall. He was in serious trouble. Had he said that he brought her tea because she was English at some point? Had those words actually come out of his mouth? He wasn't sure, and he didn't really want to think about it. He needed to pull himself together and get through the last four weeks of the semester. Then he could think about screwing up his courage to ask her out. It probably didn't matter anyway; although it was painful to admit, he doubted that she saw him as anything other than a student.

***

Peggy had gone home and slept through the remainder of the day, gotten up in the early evening to consume large amounts of tea, toast, and chicken soup, and then gone back to bed early. When she got up on Tuesday, she was still sick, but she felt like she was probably through the worst of it.

Still in her pajamas, she set herself up with her laptop and more tea in her favorite chair. She caught up on her email and started to prepare her classes for Wednesday. Now that she had enough energy to form coherent thoughts again, she found that her attention kept drifting back to her office hours the day before, to that cup of tea and the strange feeling in her stomach.

She had dismissed Jane's teasing at the time, although she had felt a little bad about some of her conversation with Rogers at the conference. The personal questions she had asked him were, well, a little too _personal_ , and she could see how it could have been interpreted as flirting. She didn't know what had come over her. She never talked with colleagues or students like that. Actually, she never talked to anyone like that.

And then there was the way he had looked at her when he had said she was stubborn. It took her a little while to figure out what bothered her about that. It was the level of scrutiny he had fixed on her, as if she was a puzzle to be worked out.

Of course, the fact that he seemed fascinated with her wasn't the problem. The problem was her reaction to it, that flip in her stomach. She didn't want to admit it, but she liked the idea that he found her interesting.

Peggy was mortified. She had a crush on a student. She had never had a crush on a student. It was unseemly. There was a power imbalance in the relationship that made any idea of getting involved with a student unpalatable.

It was especially strange since Peggy wasn't really given to having crushes, nor was she attracted to someone solely on the basis of their looks. She had always found that sort of thing a bit silly, even when she was a teenager.

But having said that, it didn't help that he was just her type. She had always liked a clean-cut look and had a weakness for fair hair and broad shoulders. Check, check, and check: he was a triple threat. She had never set much store by blue eyes, but his were remarkably kind. And the smile that spread over his face sometimes was winning. There was no other word for it.

It must be that she was lonely. It had been so, so long since any man had touched her, or held her, even in just a friendly way. She was starved for intimate human contact. She should probably try to find someone her own age to start dating again. She supposed she would add it to her very long to-do list.  
  
Wanting to hit on your students, though, had to be a sign that something was seriously wrong with her. She consoled herself that maybe she wasn't completely depraved. Having been in the military, he was likely older than many other students, and certainly more mature. And he didn't really act like he was her student, or treat her like a teacher, but instead like any random adult he knew.

But it was still weird, and she was determined to put it out of her mind. She would probably see him a few more times in office hours, she would be very professional, and then the semester would end. By next semester she was sure it would all be forgotten.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Peggy checked her watch as she stepped quickly through the dark campus. She wished she had had time to go home and change; she was coming from a late meeting and was still in her work clothes. The student union movie series was showing several film noir classics, including Peggy's favorite, _The Big Sleep_. Angie had offered to get there early and find good seats; the free screenings were quite popular.

The auditorium was crowded, and it took Peggy a while to spot Angie. She squeezed past the people already seated, half of them gracious and smiling, and the other half irrationally irritated, as always seemed to be the case. She finally reached Angie and sat down, looking forward to the movie. The seats were perfect, neither to close nor too far away from the screen, and just about in the middle of the row. She did feel a little cramped; the old narrow auditorium seats didn't leave much room on either side, and the man next to her was rather large and tall. He was turned away from her, talking to someone on his right. She accidentally elbowed him in the back as she tried to get her jacket off.

"Sorry," she said quickly, still working on the other arm of her coat.

"That's ok," the man said, turning to look at her.

She knew that voice.

"Oh, Professor, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here for a dental cleaning. You?"

He smiled.

"I seem to run into you everywhere recently, Captain. Are you following me?"

"Since I was sitting here before you, Professor, it looks like you're following me," he shot back.

Peggy turned to her left and whispered in Angie's ear. "We need to change seats."

"Why? These are perfect. And I don't even see two more seats together anywhere," she answered, looking around.

"Don't look, but that grad student I told you about is sitting next to me."

"What?" said Angie, leaning forward to look.

Steve turned a moment later, and Peggy could see Sam Wilson sitting next to him. She was obligated to introduce them. "Prof. Martinelli, this is Captain Rogers, and this is Mr. Wilson. They're both students in my graduate seminar on European history. Mr. Wilson, Captain Rogers, this is my friend, Prof. Martinelli, from the linguistics department."  
  
Sam and Steve both got up to shake Angie's hand.

"I'm Angie," she said warmly.

"Steve."

"Sam."

In spite of Peggy's efforts to keep a professional distance, the three of them were all already on a first-name basis.

After the introductions and a few pleasantries, Steve and Sam sat back down and continued their conversation. Angie checked the time; they had at least another five minutes until the movie would start. "You know what," she said, tugging on Peggy's arm, "I need to go to the ladies' room. So do you."

Angie stood up, asked Steve to keep an eye on their seats, and dragged Peggy out into the hallway.

"That's your student?" Angie asked her once they were outside.

Peggy nodded, but Angie just repeated the question, her tone incredulous.

"Yes. What?" she replied to Angie's excited expression.

"When you said 'annoying grad student who's always coming to your office hours,' I pictured some hipster boy straight out of undergrad wearing glasses he doesn't need and trying to get a really good letter of recommendation out of you."

"So?"

"So that's not what I just saw in there. That's a _man_. I don't know how else to say it. A fully grown, mature male of the human species."

"And?"

"So somehow I doubt he's coming to your office hours all the time to get a good letter of recommendation."

"What are you getting at?"

"Hmmm...let me think," Angie said, bringing her index finger to her chin. "Why would a man go out of his way to spend time with a woman? I really can't imagine any reasons."  
  
"Don't be ridiculous," Peggy said quickly, maybe a little too quickly.

"Oh my God. I can't believe I didn't see this before. _You're_ interested in _him_."

"I am not."

"You are so."

"I am not."

"Look, as stimulating as this back-and-forth with you is," Angie said, "we'd better go back in if you want to see the movie. We can discuss this further later."

Peggy was lucky that she had seen the movie many times, or she wouldn't have followed it at all. She was hyper-aware every time Rogers shifted in his seat, afraid of accidentally bumping into him. She didn't know why it was bothering her so much; she had sat next to strangers in crowded movie theaters before and not been so self-conscious. It shouldn't be a big deal if they bumped arms, or if their knees touched accidentally...

The movie ended and Peggy was eager to be gone with Angie. Angie, however, had something else in mind. She lingered and engaged the two men in conversation.

"Well," Peggy said, yawning theatrically, as soon as there was a break in the conversation. "It's getting late. We'd better get going."

"It's not even 9 p.m., Peggy," Angie replied, unimpressed.

Peggy gave her a look.

"So what are you two gentlemen up to this weekend?" Angie continued, undeterred.

"Well, we were thinking of shooting some pool," Sam answered.

"Oh pool! I haven't played in ages. Where do you like to go around here?"

"There's a place just a few blocks from here. Would you like to join us?" Sam asked.

"No," Peggy answered immediately

"Yes," Angie said at the same time.

Peggy gave Angie another look, which Angie pointedly ignored.

"You three can go on. I'm heading home," Peggy said.

"Oh, no, you have to come," Angie said.

"I don't know how to play."

"I'll show you. It's not hard. Besides, just one friendly game."

Peggy sighed. Angie wasn't going to drop this. She didn't know what she was up to, but whatever it was, it wouldn't work.

As the four of them headed out of the student union, Angie fell into step next to Peggy. "How is it you've never played pool?" Angie asked her.

"Well, I don't know how things are in your field, but I spent my university years studying."

"Right. You spent your university years in bars, probably playing darts."

***

Walking to the bar, Angie quickly became engaged in a lively conversation with Sam. The sidewalk was narrow, so that left Steve and Peggy walking together behind them.

Steve couldn't believe his luck. He had just been wishing to see her outside of a formal setting, and now here they were, in exactly that. He took a deep breath, resolving to make the most of whatever time he had with her. But now that he had his chance, he didn't know what to say, and she wasn't saying anything either.

"So I take it you're feeling better," he finally ventured. "You sounded a lot better in class on Wednesday."

"Yes, I'm practically back to full strength, although that's not saying much," she replied.

They walked on in silence for a while, that topic apparently exhausted.

Peggy couldn't believe her luck. She had just resolved to stay away from him as much as possible and to be completely professional, and here they were, in a totally informal setting. She clasped her hands behind her back as she walked, determined not to get into much of conversation with him.

"Have you and Prof. Martinelli known each other a long time?" he asked.

"Seven years. Since we both started teaching here."

"Is she your friend who thought you might be burnt out from the tenure process?"

"Yes, she is. I'm surprised you remember me saying that."

"Oh, I remember everything you say to me, Professor."

What was that supposed to mean? she wondered. She unconsciously slowed her pace as she turned it over in her head. Angie talked fast and walked faster; she and Sam Wilson were well ahead of them by now, already across the street.

They reached the intersection of the one-way street. Still lost in thought, Peggy looked to her left and started to step into the crosswalk when she was stopped by Steve's arm, which had shot out in front of her, barring her from stepping out into the street. She hadn't seen the cyclist who was flying down the bike lane going the wrong way. If he hadn't stopped her, she certainly would have had a nasty accident.

"Hey, you're going the wrong way!" he barked after the rider. It was jarring; he was usually so soft-spoken. For a moment, she could actually picture him as a military officer.

He turned back to Peggy. "He didn't clip you, did he?" he asked. You really have to watch out for these kids on their bikes."

"Thank you, I'm ok," she said, wondering how much older he was than the "kids" he had just referred to.

***

The rest of their walk had passed without incident and with little conversation. When they arrived at the bar, Peggy again demurred, saying she didn't know how to play. She had decided she would sit through one game, then make her excuses and leave, no matter what Angie said this time.

"There's no good way to play with three people,"Angie complained. "But with four people we can have two teams."

"That's just it, whichever team I'm on, I'll just ruin it for that person."

"You can be my partner," Rogers offered, as he rubbed his cue with chalk. "And you can't ruin it for me." He paused. "I mean, I can come here anytime and beat Sam at pool," he added, trying to sound nonchalant.

Peggy paused, her quick wit failing her for once. She didn't have a smart reply to that; his sincerity was disarming. So she reluctantly agreed.

And so the game started. Angie told Sam he should break since she was so rusty. Sam made a couple of shots before missing, After Sam, both Steve and Angie shot, both of them making one or more shots before missing.

It was Peggy's turn, and she felt uncharacteristically self-conscious. She leaned forward over the table, cue in one hand, trying to balance the point on her other hand as she had seen Angie do. She felt awkward and was sure she looked even more awkward. "Am I doing this right?" she asked Angie.

"Oh, I can't help you. Ask your partner," Angie answered, her arms folded.

Peggy closed her eyes briefly and silently vowed to kill Angie after the game.

Steve came over with his cue, demonstrating a couple of different ways she could arrange her fingers. When she had found a position she was comfortable with, he stood behind her to show her how to move the cue, and where it should hit the ball. She was bent forward, bracing her arm on the pool table. He was standing directly behind her, with one arm reaching around her to hold her cue, showing her how to move it. He had carefully left space between them, but when he showed her how to slide the cue back and forth, she shifted her position unexpectedly. He pressed into her body from behind for a brief moment. Their bodies touched from shoulder to knees, and Peggy felt an electric shock go through her body.

He stepped away immediately, and she took her shot, which rolled kind of listlessly towards the ball she had been aiming at. She obviously hadn't hit it nearly hard enough. As Sam stepped up to shoot, Peggy joined Steve standing near the wall. She felt she had to say something to get her mind off of the sensation of his body on hers.  
  
"So have you been knitting more socks in anticipation of winter?" she asked.

"I think I've got enough pairs right now to get me through. With all the work that I have to do in the last part of the semester, I don't have much free time anyway, and with what little I do I've been sketching."

"You're an artist?" she asked, surprised.

"Well, I wouldn't say that, but I draw sometimes."

"Don't listen to him, he's too modest," Sam interjected as he walked around the table. "He's really talented, but he'll never admit it. He even did a year of art school before he joined the army."

"Really? Why didn't you continue?" she blurted out, curious.

"Uh, well...It's just that my mother passed away, and there were an awful lot of bills, and so I couldn't really afford it. My dad passed away when I was just a kid, so I was pretty much on my own."

She felt a sudden pang at the thought of him, alone, at probably all of 18 years old.

"I'm so sorry," she said. She truly did feel awful for having unintentionally brought up such a sensitive subject. He nodded and gave her a perfunctory smile, then turned his attention back to the pool table.

She knew exactly what his reaction meant.

When you mentioned a personal loss in the course of an everyday conversation, everyone said they were sorry. And they meant it, sincerely, but somehow it always still rang hollow. They couldn't really understand, and it wasn't appropriate to go into details. So you said thank you, and tried to smile to show them you were ok, to make them comfortable again.

In the end it was awkward for everyone, which was one of several reasons she made it a point not to discuss anything personal, except with her closest friends.

But now the words spilled out of her before she could stop them. "My mother passed away a few years ago, and I've never been close to my father. They divorced when I was a child." As she spoke, she touched his forearm briefly. She wanted, she needed him to know that she really understood, or at least cared. He looked down at her hand, then into her eyes.

His expression was full of some kind of emotion that she couldn't identify. She stared back at him, not saying anything.

Sam coughed. Neither of them had been paying much attention to the game. "It's your turn," he said. Steve walked slowly to the table, still keeping eye contact with Peggy for part of the way until he turned. He managed to hit one ball into another, but they didn't go anywhere promising.

As Angie stepped up to the table, Steve came back to stand next to Peggy. She still felt like she wanted to cheer him up somehow.  
  
"Now, you have to tell me all about your sketches," Peggy said. "What do you draw: people, places, things?"

"Well, earlier in the semester I was sketching some of the buildings on campus." That was the truth, he thought, although it avoided any mention of what, or whom, he had been sketching recently.

Sam had come to stand next to the two of them and added, "But lately, he's been drawing mostly people, haven't you, Steve?"

Steve looked over at him. "Yeah, thanks for reminding me."

"Well, you'll have to show me your drawings sometime. I'm always quite impressed with people who have artistic talent, as I certainly don't have any myself," Peggy said.

"That's not true," Steve said. "Did you knit that scarf you were wearing tonight?"

"Yes."

"And did you pick out the colors for it?"

Peggy nodded.

"Then you do have an artistic eye for color. It's not just about having a technical skill for drawing. You could put those colors together in a painting, and it would be beautiful."

"I never thought about it like that."

"So you're admitting that you don't know everything, Professor?" he asked with a smile, his spirits having recovered with the change in topic.

"Oh, I would never admit that, Captain," she replied.

***

One friendly game turned into a few, then just one more, several times, until the four of them were finally going their separate ways well after midnight. Peggy's skills had improved considerably over the course of the evening, although they had still lost every game. This time when she yawned, it was genuine.

As Peggy and Angie walked to the parking garage, Angie made good on her promise of discussing things later.

"Why were you so eager to get away from Steve?"

"Don't call him that. And I don't know. He's annoying, like I said."

"Are you sure that 'annoying' is the right word?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think you know perfectly well what it means. I think that when he was showing you how to use the pool cue, you looked like you were about to pass out, and his face was as red as fire engine.  Not to mention all of the other looks that were exchanged between the two of you this evening. I feel like I need a cold shower."

"Thanks for putting me in that position, by the way. With friends like you..."

"I was just giving you a little bit of a push."

"I don't need one!" Peggy said vehemently.

Angie stopped walking. "Look, Peggy, you know I love you, and I support you. You're my best friend. And so please take this in the friendly and loving way in which it is intended. Sometimes, in my opinion, you might be just a little...too buttoned up. Believe me, I envy you in a lot of ways. You handle everything life throws at you and keep moving. But I think that sometimes, maybe, you do it so well that you're not too in touch with what you're really feeling. I really believe you might have something here. I've never seen you look at a man like that. I saw you look at a slice of chocolate cake once that came close, but that's it. Just think it over. The semester will be over in a few weeks, and then, who knows."

***

"What was that about? I can't believe you read me the riot act about staying away from her, and then you invited them out." Steve said to Sam as soon as they were out of earshot.

"What? I was just being polite. Angie seemed cool, and she said she hadn't played pool in a while..."

"What about 'There's us and there's them.' What about 'fraternizing?' "

"Well none of that applies if you're not in that person's class. Angie's just a human being. No one was born a college professor, you know."

"No, I've never heard that before."

"And I know you're not listening to me anyway. You're at her office hours every single week. You think I haven't figured that out? If you're spending time with her you might as well have a proper chaperone. Besides, when you don't see her, you're in the apartment _pining_. I can't be around that. I'm in a very demanding graduate program. It's not good for my mental health." 


	9. Chapter 9

Peggy had been grading papers all Saturday, her mind often wandering to the previous evening. Spending time with him like that had left her, not upset, but somehow unsettled. She had lapsed into another reverie, a stack of papers on her lap, when she was startled by her phone ringing.

"Peggy, I'm sick," Angie croaked into the phone. "I think I got your cold."

"Poor thing. Do you want me to bring you some soup?"

"Pizza."

"The usual? I'll pick it up and be over within an hour."

***

They had eaten in Angie's living room with Angie stretched out on the couch and wrapped in several blankets. After they had polished off most of the pizza, Angie had regained some of her customary energy. Peggy offered to make her some hot tea with honey.

"You know what would really help my throat? A milkshake."

"You really do have the strangest sick person comfort foods I've ever heard of."

"It's part of my charm. Just remember to hold the lid of the blender down, or you'll be wearing it." 

"Why don't you get yourself a new blender?"

"I'm sentimental. I made milkshakes with that blender all through grad school."

 

***

Once Peggy had delivered the milkshake and had settled into her own chair again, she asked Angie if she liked to watch a movie.

"No, I'd rather just talk."

"What about?" Peggy asked cautiously.

"Let's talk about Steve." She had known this was coming; she was actually impressed that Angie had been able to hold off for this long.

"Don't call him that. And there's nothing I want to discuss about Captain Rogers."

"Yeah, I noticed you didn't drop the last name stuff all last night." 

"You know that's how I do things in class. I don't particularly want to be called by my first name, and we're all adults so I think it's only fair that I use their titles and last names." 

"Yes, but I don't ever remember you continuing to insist upon it in a social setting," Angie said, narrowing her eyes at Peggy. "So does it bother you when I use Sam's first name?"

"No."

"But it does bother you when I say 'Steve.'"

"Yes."

"And you're still going to tell me that you're not into him."

Peggy was silent.

"You'll feel better if you come clean."

"Ok. I might have a small, a very minor, bit of a crush."

"I knew it! I just can't believe I didn't realize it until last night. It was the burnout that threw me off. I thought you kept mentioning your annoying grad student because you were burnt out since you usually don't complain about students. But it was actually a case of acute mentionitis."

"What?"

"You know, where you're always thinking about someone, so you constantly bring the conversation around to someone. Artichokes? That reminds me of my student. The infield fly rule, you know what that makes me think of, this grad student. Metathesis, that's funny, you know what this student of mine said."

"What's metathesis?"

"It's when two sounds in a word switch places. Like the word for horse in Old English was hros. And---hey, I know what you're doing. Don't try to change the topic. You're not going to get me off on some linguistics tangent. But just for trying, I will give you an in depth history of metathesis when I'm feeling better. With charts. Now, let's talk about Steve."

"Don't call--" Peggy started to say before she stopped herself.

"So you're into him, but you don't want to be because..." Angie asked, gesturing at Peggy to indicate that she should finish the sentence.

"Because he's a student."

"And what's wrong with dating a student?"

"You know what's wrong with it. A lot of things."

"Just humor me. I thought you were a college professor. Don't you like to reason things out? If we can specify why it's a bad idea, then we can be clear about what conditions would have to obtain for it to be acceptable. What's wrong with dating one of your students?"

"Well first off there's the ethics of it. It's unethical to be in a personal relationship with someone you have to assign a grade to. That's why it's also a bad idea to become close friends with someone who's in your class as well."

"Agreed. Although it's a little different for grad students sometimes, don't you think?"

"Yes, at some point, especially later and in particular programs, in which grades don't matter so much, and all the students want to be there and do well, and everyone is basically getting an A or a B. And they're not just your students; they're your junior colleagues who you're mentoring on a thesis or dissertation and giving job advice to, so of course you can end up being friends, going out for coffee or over to their house for dinner or something."

"Like you did with your advisor."

"Right." As a graduate student herself, Peggy had gone to lunch with her advisor, and eaten dinner with her family. She still kept in touch with her and considered her a friend as well as a mentor.

"And do you think that caused an ethical conflict for her, being friends with you and having to assign you a grade?"

"No. I mean the grade didn't matter so much as her opinion of me. It wasn't a question of doing the work; of course I was doing everything conscientiously since I was planning on this area as a career. So any constructive criticism she gave me about my writing or presentation skills was really intended to help me in the future. The grade was beside the point."

"So how's Steve's work in your class?"

"Really excellent. He's one of the top two or three students, especially when it comes to class discussion."

"So you don't really have a problem there. He'll get an excellent grade, and he's earned it. Now I agree that of course you don't date someone while they're still your student, but there's nothing wrong with getting to know him better if you happen to cross paths."

"I suppose."

"So, just a hypothetical, once the semester's over, what if he asked you out?"

"I'd say no."

"Why?" 

"The age difference."

"How old do you think he is?"

"Late 20s, maybe."

"Oh, if he's a army captain, don't you think he was in the service for a while? He could be well into his 30s."

Peggy answered only with a shrug.

"But even if you're 12 years older than him," Angie continued, "what's the big deal? If you were 30 and he were 18, still living with his parents or something, that would be creepy. But if he's 28, and you're 40, then you're both adults. Not young adults, almost adults, or living away from their parents for the first time adults. That's an adult without any qualifications."

"Even if I were interested, and even if the semester was over, wouldn't the whole thing be tainted by the fact that he was my student? Isn't it still creepy somehow?"

"I know what you're saying." Angie said. "In a lot of circumstances I think it would. You know, something like that kind of happened to me when I was a student. I had a crush on a professor of mine when I was 20. He must've been about 30. Nothing ever happened, of course. But I used to talk to him a lot in his office hours and the conversations often turned to personal topics. Several different times he would say negative things about his wife. At the time I felt bad for him, trapped in an unhappy marriage. I hat a crush on him and thought we would have made a much better couple. But in hindsight, and now that I'm a professor myself, I realize how inappropriate it was for him to be saying those things to me. And I found out several years later that he was doing the same thing with a number of other female undergraduates. And it seriously creeps me out in retrospect. But I don't think this situation's like that one; that's all I'm getting at."

"All right, all right. I'll concede every point about the age difference, the student thing, all of it. But I would still never get involved with him. He's really just passing through here, someone getting a two-year degree. If my funding comes through, I'll be in Germany all next year on my sabbatical. That master's program he's in only lasts two years. That means that the time we're both here would only overlap next semester. I'm not getting into another relationship that's doomed to fail due to geographic incompatibility. Nothing's happened. Nothing's going to happen."

"Fair enough," Angie conceded. And I'm not worried anything would happen. You're a good girl with fine, old-fashioned manners. But I wouldn't be surprised if you hear from him once the semester's over."

 

***

Steve had a lot to turn over in his mind after getting back from playing pool with "Peggy," as he now thought of her. He hadn't expected that she would go by a nickname, but somehow it suited her perfectly.

He sat on his bed, too keyed up to even think about going to sleep. He had thought he had a crush on her, then he had started to think that he might be in love with her. But tonight he felt something different, something he had never experienced. 

When they were getting ready to leave, he had helped her on with her coat. She had looked over her shoulder, smiled, and thanked him.

At that moment, he had suddenly seen his future, their future, pass before his eyes. He would be performing that simple courtesy for her over and over again through the years. Sometimes they would be out alone, sometimes with a child tugging at their arms. Sometimes Peggy would be distracted, but she would always turn her head to look at him. The coats would change, their hair would turn gray, and she would still be there with him, turning and smiling that same perfect smile. They would tell their grandchildren about how the first time they had been out on something like a date, he had shown her how to play pool and lost every game, but he couldn't have cared less.

It was an uncanny feeling, not a daydream, not something he was wishing would happen, but just something that he somehow knew was going to happen.

He had heard people say that when you met the right person, you just knew. And he had never known what that meant until that moment. He had been in love before, and had thought that that feeling was what people were referring to. But this was something else: a profound connection to her, as if they were already together, and always had been.

A connection to her that was beyond reason, beyond cause and effect.

He felt like he could have told her anything, his most embarrassing secret or his worst regret, and it wouldn't change how she felt about him. Or he could tell her nothing about himself, and she would still understand him better than anyone else.

He finally fell asleep at five am, after hours of thinking and sketching. He wasn't upset or agitated anymore. Everything was going to work out with her somehow, although he couldn't say how.

He just knew.


	10. Chapter 10

Angie's Thanksgiving parties were legendary. She always invited just about everyone she knew: colleagues, graduate students, and all of her neighbors, people whose families were too far away to get to, or who were from other countries. She even invited people who were involved in their own celebrations to drop by before or after. Things were a little chaotic, with all kinds of friends and acquaintances filtering in and out all day according to their availability, although there was a core of about 15 people who didn't have anywhere else to be and who stayed for dinner. Angie's Thanksgiving parties also always had a theme. This year she had chosen the 80s, and different movies and music from the decade were playing in every room.

Peggy was in a good mood even though she had been at Angie's since mid-morning helping with the preparations. She had washed and chopped, sautéed and baked till she was tired of standing. She had drawn the line, however, at putting her hand inside a turkey, arguing that half the reason she had gotten a Ph.D. was in order to avoid that kind of thing.

The brief Thanksgiving break more or less marked the end of her graduate seminar. There were two weeks left in the semester, but the remainder of the class would consist of student presentations. She wasn't really teaching them anymore.

It was afternoon, and Angie was like a general in the kitchen, issuing orders, solving problems, and delegating responsibilities. There were four other people in the large kitchen, each engaged in some task that Angie had assigned them. "Peggy, you're on blender duty. Get that squash out of the pan, purée it, and then put it into the soup pot on the stove."

"Got it," Peggy replied. She carefully emptied the contents of the pan into the blender. She placed her finger on the button, put her hand on the lid, and pulsed it a couple of times. She was about to press it again when she was interrupted by a voice from behind her.

"Hey teach!" Sam Wilson said enthusiastically as he entered the kitchen, then went to greet Angie with a hug.

If Sam Wilson was here, then that could only mean that he was here too. Of course. Of course Angie had invited them. That was just the kind of thing she would do, and she hadn't told Peggy because she didn't want to argue about it.

Peggy did a quick mental inventory of how she looked and what she was wearing. She had brought a dress to change into for the actual meal. Right now she was wearing a simple dark v-neck shirt and jeans, appropriate for kitchen work. She had done her makeup, but she had her hair back in a ponytail. She quickly pulled out the hair band and ran a hand through her hair. Damn, Angie should have at least warned her once she had gotten there. 

She knew it was silly to fuss over her appearance, and probably nothing would ever come of it, but since the evening of the movie and her long talk about it with Angie, she had stopped insisting, even to herself, that she didn't like spending time with him. Angie had had a point; there was nothing particularly scandalous about spending time socially with a student as long as she just happened to run into him. And after they had played pool, he hadn't started to act overly familiar with her or presumptuous. Their conversations in office hours had continued to be mostly about academic matters, and that had reassured her that their relationship wasn't inappropriate. 

Sure enough, Steve entered the kitchen moments after Sam. He greeted Angie, and then walked over to Peggy. "Hi, Professor," he said, smiling.

"Captain Rogers," she nodded.

"Peggy, have you got that squash ready?" Angie called.

"Yes, just a second," she replied. The moment she pressed the button, she realized, too late, that she had taken her other hand off of the lid. Before she could put her hand on it or take her finger off the button, the lid of the blender came loose, sending puréed butternut squash all over the counter and both of them. Peggy had gotten it mostly on her face and arm, with a little on her shirt, and one major area on her hair. Steve had been hit almost entirely on his button-down shirt. 

"This blasted blender! I'm so sorry. You have to hold the lid down, and I forgot." 

Peggy wiped up the mess on the counter while Angie pulled Steve out of the kitchen to see what to do about the ruined shirt. She rinsed the squash off her arm and got most of it out of her hair, then went to check on him.

She found him in Angie's laundry room, reading the directions on a spray bottle. The shirt was spread out in front of him on the washer as it filled with water. He was wearing only a white t-shirt.

"I'm really sorry about that. I hope I haven't ruined your shirt."

"Oh, it'll be fine, I'm sure."

"I wanted to offer to have it dry-cleaned for you if you think that would be better. I'm sure Angie could find you something to wear."

"No, no. It's not that fancy, not worth the trouble. I'm just figuring out the best way to go about washing it."

"Let me have a look? I'm good at getting out stains. It's the very least I could do."

He nodded and she stepped into Angie's tiny laundry room. She checked the washing suggestions on the label, adjusted the washer temperature higher, and added some detergent. Then she carefully sprayed the stains, and started to rub the spray in with her fingers. She had been so focused on what she was doing that she hadn't thought about the fact that he was standing next to her without saying a word all this time, silently watching her. Alone, so close that they were almost touching, with him in a state of undress. She looked up from the shirt. He was watching her with a mixture of appreciation and--she swore she was not imagining this--desire in his eyes. She stared back at him, lowering her arms but still holding the shirt. She glanced down at his hands; his fists were clenched. She looked back up to meet his gaze, her eyes raking over him. He generally wore button-down shirts that obscured his shape, but the thin white v-neck showed off his muscular chest and arms and his broad shoulders. They were standing so close, their eyes locked on each other. She felt like a magnet was pulling her closer to him. She was fighting the urge to pick her heels up off the floor so that she could reach up and press a kiss to his chin.

"It's a good thing I like unisex, oversized t-shirts. I think this should fit you," Angie said, having appeared at the door to the laundry room. She handed him a long-sleeved gray t-shirt with the university's name across the front.

Steve mumbled a thank you as he took the shirt and quickly left the laundry room.  
Peggy dropped the shirt in the wash. As Angie started to ask her what was going on, she held up her hand, "Not now," she said definitively.

Steve quickly found Angie's back door and stepped outside to the yard. It was nearly 40 degrees, not cold enough to really cool him off. He was still breathing hard. A run around the block to clear his mind would be too obvious. There was still some unmelted snow from earlier in the week on the ground near the house in the shade. He grabbed a handful and put it down his back. That helped some. Two more weeks in the semester. Two more weeks, he repeated to himself. He wasn't sure if he was going to make it. God, he wanted her. And for the first time, he thought she might want him too. She had actually moved just the tiniest bit closer to him when they were looking at each other. She had even tilted her head a fraction to the side, as if for a kiss. He was sure he hadn't imagined it. He tried to focus on the memory; he wanted to be able to recall it exactly. Even though it was torture to be so close, he needed to have something to hang his hopes on over the next two weeks. 

Peggy was up the stairs like a shot to Angie's private bathroom. She wasn't sure why she had come up there; she just knew she needed to be alone for a few minutes without being interrupted. She would have liked to splash water on her face, but she didn't feel like having to redo her makeup. So she ran cold water and soaked a washcloth in it. She sat down on the closed toilet, leaned forward, and put the cold cloth on the back of her neck. She took a few deep breaths in and out. She didn't have a crush on a student, as she had grudgingly admitted to Angie. She thought she might be falling in love with him.

***  
Some while later, they had both returned to the kitchen. Angie came right over to them with a squash. "You two are in charge of redoing the squash. You're lucky I always have extra ingredients in case of emergency. Peggy, you know the drill--chop, sauté, then purée. This time, put both hands on the blender lid and let Steve press the button."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve answered.

Peggy smiled, liking the idea that she would have to have her arms entangled with his to carry out Angie's instructions.

***  
As dinner approached, Peggy had gone upstairs to change in Angie's spare bedroom. She was hoping to time things so that she would end up sitting next to him at the table. She came down the stairs, looking around the room for him, when he appeared at her elbow. He had changed back into his button-down shirt. "Look," he said, "you can't even see where the squash was."

"Oh, I'm so relieved that it wasn't ruined. It's the most attractive shade of blue that I've ever seen," she said, looking directly into his eyes and not at the shirt at all.

Was she flirting with him, he wondered. It must be his imagination. But just in case, he thought he'd respond in kind.

"That's a beautiful dress," he replied, looking only at her face.

Angie called everyone to the table. They walked over together and he pulled out a chair for her, then sat right down next to her, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Angie stood up at the head of the table to start the meal. "Thank you everyone for coming, and for all your help with this meal. It's another one of my traditions that you share a favorite Thanksgiving memory with someone sitting near you. Or some other holiday, if this is your first Thanksgiving. Other than that, all I have to say is, let's eat."

"So you probably don't have a lot of favorite Thanksgiving memories, being English," he said.

"Actually, my father's from the U.S., and I have dual citizenship. So I'm every bit as American as you, Captain."

"But you're right. I didn't grow up with Thanksgiving; it doesn't have that kind of resonance for me. I have been celebrating it regularly, though, ever since I came here to do my graduate work. And I think it might be my favorite holiday. All you have to do is eat and enjoy yourself. 

"If I had to pick a favorite Thanksgiving memory," she continued, "I think I'd have to say a few hours ago in the kitchen, and the look on your face when I unleashed puréed squash on you," she said, laughing. 

"Me? You should have seen yourself. I think half of it was in your hair."

"Yes, and I think I can still smell it," she replied, pulling a strand around under her nose. "But it does seem to be very moisturizing," she added, feeling it between her fingers.

 

***  
After dinner, Angie put the next phase of her Thanksgiving extravaganza into operation: dancing. She had some of the guests clear out the table and chairs and turned her living and dining rooms into a dance floor. Speakers were put up and she started a seemingly endless playlist of 80s music.

Peggy was in high spirits, and she loved dancing. She danced with two of Angie's neighbors, with Sam, with one of the international students from Angie's department and with Angie. The only person she didn't dance with was Steve.

He was sitting on one end of the couch, not sulking, but not participating in anything either. She sat down next to him, but not too close. 

"Don't you like to dance, Captain?" she asked.

"I don't really know how."

"But you must have danced."

"Yes, I mean moving around, but not actual dancing, with steps."

"It's not hard to learn. I'm sure you could pick up the basics in a few minutes," she said. 

"Is that an invitation?"

"Yes," she nodded, getting up and offering him her hand. "You showed me how to play pool. It's only fair that I return the favor."

He took her hand and stood up immediately. "I'll probably look like an idiot."

"Since when has that ever stopped you?" she said. Then, feeling like that might have sounded mean instead of playful, she quickly added "I know it's never stopped me. And I can attest to the fact that it absolutely never stops Angie. Now let's go into the other room so you can hear what I'm saying and I'll show you the steps."

They walked into Angie's kitchen where it was brighter and much quieter, with only an occasional guest wandering in and out getting a glass of water.

"First you can stand next to me, and I'll show you the steps for your part," Peggy directed, lining up next to him. "This is just a basic box step, the first thing you learn, but it's the basis for lots of dances, like the waltz. Now you're just going to trace the shape of a box on the floor with the movements of your feet."

After they had gone through the steps a few times, Peggy asked him if he was ready to try dancing with him facing her. 

He nodded. "I'll try not to step on your toes," he said, looking down. 

"Instead of a traditional dance hold, where it's harder to look down at your feet, let's just hold hands, so you can look down if you need to."

She stood facing him, a generous space between them, and held out her hands. He took them and she started counting the steps. He did well, only hesitating a few times.

"Are you ready to try it for real?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, swallowing hard.

She took a step closer to him. "Now you put your right hand just under my left shoulder blade. And I rest my left hand on your upper arm. Lots of times, on tv and things, you'll see a woman with her hand on the man's shoulder, like this," she said, sliding her hand up along his arm to demonstrate. She could have taken her hand off him to show him the difference, but she felt reckless. She didn't know if it was the looming end of the semester, the time they had spent together that day, or the festive atmosphere, but at that moment, she just didn't care if she was asking for trouble or going to end up miserable because of him. 

She of course wasn't going to initiate anything, not while he was her student, but she was done denying that she wanted to be close to him, of pretending she wasn't in love with him. She had an excuse to put her hands on him, and she was going to enjoy it.

"And you'll also see that the man will have his hand lower. Go ahead and put your hand on the small of my back."

Just as she had done, he slid his hand down her back, rather than removing and replacing it. She actually shivered at the contact. 

"Are you cold?" he asked, in a voice that would have warmed her up if she had been.

"No, I'm fine," she replied, somewhat unsteadily.

"So the reason that this isn't a proper dance hold is that you can't feel your partner move as well. So instead I was taught that you need to have your hands and arms up higher; it makes it easier to lead and follow. We don't have to worry about leading and following right now, but it always makes sense to develop good habits. So let's go back to the first hold," she said, sliding her hand from his shoulder to his arm as he trailed his hand up to her shoulder blade.

"Good. Then we put our other hands together, and try a few steps."

Peggy again counted out the steps for him as they moved together."

"Look at that," she said, smiling. "You're doing great. Do you want to go out and try it to music? I'll have Angie play something slow."

Steve actually didn't really feel that confident about adding actual music into the mix, but he found it impossible just then to disagree with her about anything.

When they came back into the living room, the music was paused and Angie was adjusting the playlist on her tablet.

"Angie, play something of mine," Peggy called over to her. 

"No, no 40s stuff tonight. It doesn't go with the theme," Angie protested.

Peggy had to admit that Angie was nothing if not dedicated to the theme, as evidenced by the disco ball hanging from the living room ceiling. 

"Then just play something slow." She realized her mistake too late. She had let Angie pick a song for them. Sure enough, a minute later she heard the opening notes of "Almost Paradise." Oh well, she supposed there weren't a lot of slow 80s songs that weren't romantic in some way.

"Ready?" she asked him.

"As I'll ever be," he replied.

At first she counted out the steps, but he soon seemed comfortable enough that she stopped. She felt as though she should make some conversation, but she found herself unable to; her head was spinning at being so close to him. She wished she could close the distance between them and rest her head on his chest. But that would decisively move this encounter from a little strange to completely inappropriate. Instead she just looked into his eyes, staring at him as they moved together.

***  
Angie was observing them from across the room, leaning up against the wall with her arms crossed in front of her. She had never seen two people who were more obviously in love with each other, and she was starting to get worried for Peggy. Angie was an optimist, especially when it came to other people, so she had encouraged Peggy not to give up on the possibility of a relationship with him due to their potential "geographical incompatibility," as Peggy had called it. But she had to admit it was a serious potential problem. 

Sam had sidled up next to her, his eyes also fixed on Steve and Peggy. He glanced over at Angie, wondering if she was seeing the same thing he was: two people who were already so far gone for each other that the rest of the world didn't exist. 

She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows. 

"When exactly are grades turned in?" he asked. 

"They usually open the electronic submission on the last day of classes. That's the earliest possible time to submit them if you're not waiting on final exams or papers."

"So that'd be two weeks from tomorrow. Do you think they'll make it?"

Angie didn't bother to pretend she didn't know what he was talking about. She sighed. "They have to," was her only reply. 

Angie realized she had an opportunity to find out some information from the other side, as it were. "Actually," she continued, "I'm not worried about Peggy; she's professionalism personified. How about your man?"

"Him? He's an overgrown boy scout. He would never hit on his teacher, not while she's his teacher, that is."

"So do you think he's serious about her?" Angie asked, trying not to sound too invested in his answer.

Sam hesitated; he didn't want to betray Steve's confidence, not that Steve had really confided much in him about the whole situation.

Angie decided to be honest. It was a relief to talk about it with someone besides Peggy. "It's just...I'm worried about Peggy getting her heart broken." 

"Well, he'll only admit to a crush, but I've never seen any crush that looked like that," Sam replied, nodding towards Steve and Peggy. " And I've known him for years. Believe me, if he were the kind of guy who plays around, if I thought he wasn't sincere, I'd tell you. In fact, if he were like that, I wouldn't be friends with him. He's honestly one of the best people I know."

"That's good to hear. And don't let Peggy's sometimes crusty exterior fool you. She has a heart of gold."

"Well, then maybe they deserve each other," Sam replied.

They stood in companionable silence for a few minutes. A new song started, and Steve and Peggy showed no signs of stopping, or of being aware that there were other people in the room. 

"So as the only cool heads around here, while we're waiting to see how this all plays out, would you like to dance?"

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em?" Angie joked. "Why not?" she said, and they headed for the dance floor. 

***  
It was late, everyone was tired, and people were starting to head home. Steve and Sam were among the last to leave, and Peggy was reluctant for the evening to end. She probably wouldn't have a chance to see him in a social setting like this until classes were over, if ever.

Steve held out his hand to shake hers. "I really enjoyed talking with you today."

"I enjoyed it too," she replied.

She took his hand, and then he covered it with his left hand as well, holding it for several beats longer than a typical handshake. As he spoke, he brushed his thumb lightly across the base of hers. It was the first time he had touched her in a way that was not strictly appropriate. And it was far and away the most thrilling physical contact she had ever experienced.

"And thank you for showing me how to dance," he continued. "You were right. It's easy to learn with the right partner."

"Good night, Captain."

"Good night, Professor."


	11. Chapter 11

  
Peggy had to step carefully as she walked through the parking lot. A dusting of snow had fallen and there could be patches of ice underneath anywhere. She had never been a regular churchgoer, but when she did go, it was to this little unassuming stone church on the edge of campus.

Whatever happened to be bothering her, she usually felt better about it after attending a service there. She didn't know if it was the fact that it got her out of her own head, reminding her that there were more important things in life than how many publications she had, or whether it was the familiarity of the rituals, going back to her childhood experience of churches, or something else that she couldn't explain. She wasn't sure what she believed, but she did know that she needed that feeling of peacefulness right now.

Earlier in the semester, she had been feeling irritable and like nothing she did mattered, although she wasn't sure what exactly was wrong. Maybe burnout, maybe a more simple natural letdown after having achieved a major career goal.

Now she was restless and uncertain, and she knew the reason. But there was absolutely nothing she could do about it but wait. Wait for two weeks, until the semester was over, and then who knew how much longer she would have to wait. She felt for sure that he was interested in her, but she knew that even if she were right, there was no guarantee she would ever hear from him again. Every woman had stories like that: the guy who asked for your number, seemed eager to see you, and was never heard from again. The perfectly good first date that never lead to a second.

Under normal circumstances, she would not leave things in someone else's hands; she had no problem asking a man out. But this situation was different; she was not going to chase after a former student anytime soon. Maybe, if a month or so went by, she could contact him, ask him how his German was coming along, and tell him she would be happy to help him out further. But right now, having to wait another month and a half to find out if there was anything between them seemed like a lifetime away.  
  
It was the first Sunday of Advent, and she was looking forward to it. Most everyone loved Christmas music, of course. But even more, Peggy appreciated the quiet, hopeful music of Advent, which perfectly matched her mood this time of year.

She settled into a pew about halfway up the aisle. She looked toward the listing of song numbers so that she could find the first one in the hymnal. Her view of the song board was momentarily blocked by a tall man sitting a few rows ahead of her, so she had to lean over a little to see it. There was something familiar about him. It couldn't be, she thought. But it was.

"Lord have mercy," she whispered under her breath.

Running into him everywhere wasn't a coincidence, she thought. It was some sort of divine joke, or possibly punishment.

She could have changed seats, but it wouldn't matter, she would still be thinking about him. She spent a good part of the service with her eyes closed in an attempt to concentrate on something other than him. She succeeded, some of the time.

When it was time to shake hands with the people around her, he turned, surprise at seeing her showing in his eyes, quickly followed by a smile that lit up his face and at the same time caused the bottom to drop out of her stomach. Bracing his arm against the back of his pew, he leaned over the empty rows between them to shake her hand.

After the service ended, she stayed where she was. She could have tried to pretend to him and to herself that she would coincidentally leave at the same time he did, hoping to talk with him a little. But what was the point? She was completely preoccupied with him at this point wherever she was, so she might as well say hello.

As she expected, he left his seat and came directly to her. She stood as he approached.

"Are you in a hurry anywhere?" he asked. "I always light a candle to remember my parents, if you can wait just a minute."

She wasn't sure what she had expected him to say to her, but it wasn't that.

"Of course, I'll wait right here," she answered. He headed to the back of the church. A moment later, she reconsidered and caught up to him.

"I thought I might light one too," she explained.

The church had mostly emptied out except for a few people towards the front. Only a feeble light was coming in from the grey skies outside, which contrasted with the yellow brightness of the candles. They lit their candles in silence, then stood there for a minute a few feet apart.

Peggy just thought about her mother. She would have thought that remembering her like this would have just made her miss her even more, and it did, but only briefly, and when she was done feeling sad and stepped away to sit down nearby, she was surprised to feel a kind of relief.

Steve walked over to her with a small smile. "So have you ever stopped by the coffee and donuts? I haven't, but they're probably both awful," he said, offering her his arm. "Why don't we find out?"

"Sounds lovely," she smiled back, standing and sliding her fingers around the crook of his arm.

He had never been so bold with her, but it was paying off. Since Thanksgiving three days before, he had been able to think of little else than the sensation of her hand sliding up his arm to rest on his shoulder, and then back down, leaving a trail of fire. How her other hand in his had felt like it belonged there, and he had never wanted to let it go. How she had felt in his arms as they danced. He was desperate for any kind of physical contact with her, and when she wrapped her hand around his arm just above his elbow, he sighed in relief.

They walked over to the church's meeting hall. It looked exactly the same as every church meeting hall she had ever been in. The same light-colored tile floor, white walls, and low ceiling. The same rectangular tables pushed together in long rows, with the same metal folding chairs.

The coffee was woefully over-brewed, which was to be expected since this was late morning. The donuts actually weren't half-bad. They sat down across from each other at one of the long tables.

"Hard to believe that the Christmas season is starting up already," he said. "Do you go all out with decorations, gifts, all that?" he asked.

"It's all gotten to be a bit much, don't you think?"

"You mean the commercialization?"

"Not exactly. That's part of it, to be sure. But the main thing is the way that everything is a season now. As soon as one ends, another starts. I suppose I expect that attitude from the shops, but it seems to have bled into everyday life. I have several neighbors who put up Halloween decorations for a whole month, then Thanksgiving decorations, then Christmas, et cetera. I don't see how that's necessary outside of a kindergarten classroom."

He snorted. "Don't mince words; tell me how you really feel."

"Do you think I'm too opinionated? I suppose you might as well know that about me now,"  
she realized after the words had come out of her mouth that she had phrased it as if they were already in a relationship.

"No, not at all. I like that you're passionate," he said, sipping his coffee. "About your opinions, that is."

"Do you often attend this service?" she asked.

"Usually I go to the early one. I was up late last night, had some trouble sleeping, so I came to this one." He refrained from saying why he couldn't sleep, that it was because he was imagining what it would be like to dance with her again once the semester was over. "What about you?"

"Well, I'm a rather indifferent churchgoer, I'm afraid. I'm not even a member here, or anywhere. But when I do go, this is the service I come to. I'd never make it to an early service; I'm not a morning person."

"Do you have trouble getting up early for our class?"

"I did, but as the semester's gone on, it's gotten...much easier," she answered, locking eyes with him.

"It must be that you've gotten used to the schedule," he said evenly.

"Yes, it must be," she replied, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"So are you a night owl?"

"No, not really."

"Is there any time of the day when you are alert?" he teased.

"Yes, between 3:45 and 4:00 every day. And on my good days I'm quite productive for the whole 15 minutes."

"And after four p.m. it's all over?"

"Definitely. All downhill."

"So that's why you fell asleep during your office hours when I was reading."

"Now that's not fair. I was sick. I was practically incapacitated."

"If you felt that bad, you should have cancelled class and stayed home."

"You're still bringing that up? And you disparaged me for being stubborn."

"I wasn't disparaging you," he protested. "I meant it as a compliment."

"If the person receiving the compliment thinks they're being insulted, then you need to work on your complimenting skills."

"Fair enough," he conceded. "The next time I give you a compliment, I'll make sure you know it," he said, fixing her with a look that made her her face suddenly hot.

"Are you going anywhere over the winter break?" he asked. She was relieved at the change in topic since it gave her a little time to recover her composure.

"No. I mean I'd like to, in a way, for a change of scene, but holiday travel is such an ordeal, and I don't know, I just wasn't up for it this year. What about you?"

"No big plans, really. Sam and I were thinking of driving to Chicago for a couple of days. I've never really been there except through the airport a couple of times."

"Oh, with your artistic interests, you'll have to go to the Art Institute. It's really excellent."

"Yeah, I'll try. Sam's not too much for museums, and if we're only there for two days, I might not insist on it."

"Well, you'll have to go another time, then, with someone who does enjoy museums."

"Yes, I definitely want to do that," he replied, holding her gaze for an extra beat.

Their conversation continued until their coffee cups were drained several times over and their voices scratchy from talking. The room had emptied out until only the people clearing up the refreshments were left.

As they headed outside, she had put her hand around his arm again. It was icy out, she told herself. Holding his arm was just a sensible safety precaution.

He walked her to her car, slowing his pace, trying to spend just a few more minutes with her. To his surprise, she seemed to be delaying too, extending the conversation as they stood next to her car. He was having trouble concentrating on what she was saying, and he may have distractedly asked the same question twice. In Angie's laundry room, he had thought that she was on the point of kissing him. This time, he was the one who was fighting the urge to put his arm around her waist, his other hand on her neck, somehow resisting the irresistible pull to bend his head down to her. If they started kissing, he knew he would never want to stop. He would press her--carefully--back against the car and...

Finally they said their goodbyes. It was a little easier knowing that he would see her tomorrow morning in class, but not much.

Less than two weeks, he told himself. He was considering whether he would make it or whether he should just drop out of school. Right now, he thought blowing up his entire career might be worth it for one kiss from her.

As she drove home, Peggy's mind wandered. It used to be that she relished an afternoon of reading and felt reluctant for the return to work on Monday. Now, the rest of the day that stretched out in front of her seemed empty, and she was eager for her classes on Monday and Wednesday and especially for her office hours.

At Thanksgiving, Peggy had wondered if her feelings for him had been amplified by the holiday atmosphere and her general good mood, but now she had her answer: she still felt lively and a little wild around him. She had actually been flirting, she realized, pleasantly surprised that she still knew how to. He made her feel young, like life was full of interesting possibilities. She _was_ young, she thought, as she pulled into her driveway. She just hadn't felt like it for a while.

  
***

Sam was sitting on the couch, surrounded by piles of notes, three open books, and a laptop. But his attention was fixed on a football game playing on the tv, muted. He turned as Steve came in and took off his coat.

"Hard at work?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I know, but they'll clinch a spot in the playoffs if they can win this. And I've still got a week to finish this paper. Are you just getting back from church now?" Sam asked, noticing his suit jacket and dress shoes.

"Yeah, I stopped by the coffee and donuts afterwards."

"For two hours?" Sam asked.

"What is this, an interrogation?"

"I hate to be the one to break it to you, but your habits are regular to the point of being boring. You used to spend every Tuesday afternoon reading here. Then you suddenly disappeared. That's why it was so obvious you started going to Prof. Carter's office hours every single week." Steve started to say something, but Sam preempted him. "For purely academic reasons, I'm sure."

Steve stepped into the kitchen to look into options for lunch; he needed something else on his stomach besides three cups of bad coffee.

"Although, you know Angie said something to me about that," Sam added.

"About what?" Steve called.

"About you and Peggy Carter."

Steve was back out of the kitchen as slowly as he could force himself to walk. "What?" he asked, coming up to stand behind the couch.

"What?" Sam replied, his attention still on the game.

"What did she say about me and Professor Carter?"

"Oh, right. I just got the impression that she thinks that the two of you are--That's interference!" Sam yelled, pointing at the tv. "Did you see that? That was interference." He grabbed the remote to turn the sound on.

Only his reluctance to reveal how interested he was in what Sam was going to say kept Steve from turning off the television. He waited patiently through the instant replay, nodding, agreeing with Sam that it did look like the cornerback had grabbed the receiver's jersey. When the game had resumed, and Sam had settled down, Steve again broached the subject in what he hoped was an offhand tone. "I think you were in the middle of a sentence," Steve prompted, "something about Angie saying something?"

"Yeah, Angie just mentioned something to the effect that she thinks you two are madly in love with each other, that's all."

"What?" In one quick series of motions, Steve threw a leg over the couch and slid down so he was sitting next to Sam, tossed several papers on the floor, and grabbed the remote, turning off the game. "What exactly did she say?"

"Oh, so you are interested after all," Sam said with a knowing look. "I thought you just had a meaningless crush."

"And what if I said it was more than a crush, and I need my best friend to tell me what he knows about it. Immediately. Please."

"Ok," Sam answered, smiling. "But the game stays on," he added, reaching for the remote. Sam sketched out the details of the conversation he had had with Angie at Thanksgiving when they had watched the two of them dancing.

"So she never actually, technically said that Prof. Carter said that she was interested in me."

"First of all, I think it's safe to say 'Peggy' even if you don't call her that to her face. But to answer your question, no, she didn't. Angie only talked about her own opinions. But I wouldn't expect her to say anything directly about what Peggy's said. That would be crossing the line."

"Still, they're best friends; she must know her pretty well," Steve said, weighing how much he should get his hopes up.

"I forgot to say she was afraid you were going to break Peggy's heart somehow. I told her you weren't any kind of a player. Not that I have any idea how anyone could get that impression of you after seeing you talk to a woman."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you're too innocent for this corrupt world we live in. Now go eat or change clothes or whatever you were gonna do so I can concentrate on my paper."

"Your paper's on this screen, you know," Steve said, gesturing at the laptop.

"I know. So is it good that I told you what Angie said? Do you feel better?"

"Yeah. Thanks," he added, clapping Sam on the shoulder before he headed out of the room.

He did feel better. He was still impatient, still distracted; but those feelings were now mixed with a new one: hope  

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

Peggy had almost forgotten that she had a ticket to a performance of _The Merry Widow_ that Sunday night. She usually went by herself, and this was no exception. Angie came now and again, but she wasn't really that into it. Peggy loved the opera enough that she'd just as soon go alone than with someone who wasn't enjoying it.

But tonight she was distracted. As she slipped on a silky red blouse, she wondered how long it had been since she was on a real date. She wasn't sure if she had actually ever been on one, the kind you saw in movies, what she had imagined it would be like when she was was a girl.

She had had boyfriends, relationships. But somehow she had always just fallen into them, going from friends to lovers almost imperceptibly. She couldn't remember any time that someone had straight up asked her out on a date, brought her flowers, seemed nervous around her.

Of course she didn't need those things. She knew her own value. But tonight, for some reason, she wanted them. She wanted someone who thought she was special, who was anxious for her good opinion. And she also wanted to feel the same way about someone else, to feel her pulse quicken when she heard a knock on her door.

She imagined what it would be like to be getting ready for a date tonight. Not for a date with anyone specific, and absolutely not with one of her current students.

As she transferred her keys and wallet to a small evening purse, she would not let herself think about how he would show up at her house to pick her up, with flowers, dressed in a jacket and tie and slightly nervous, because they hadn't been going out for long.

As she drove, she did not imagine the conversation they would have had in the car on the way, chatting pleasantly about their days as they drove to campus and parked.

As she walked through the cold to the auditorium, weaving among pairs of friends and lovers, she did not think about reaching out for his hand, and how he would look over at her and smile. His hand would be so warm.

As she settled into her seat, she did not imagine what they would talk about before the performance, and some private joke they would share.

As the music started, Peggy focused on listening and enjoying. She did not let herself think about what it would be like to watch his reactions to her favorite parts, eager to see if he would appreciate it as much as she did.

She shivered; it was chilly in the auditorium. She supposed she should have worn something warmer, but she didn't want to struggle back into her bulky coat. She absolutely refused to imagine him noticing that she was cold, and putting his arm around her to warm her up.

Under no circumstances did she think about what it would be like to press her lips close to his ear and whisper that her knee was cold, too. She certainly didn't linger on what it might feel like if he covered her knee with his hand and left it there a while, brushing his thumb back and forth familiarly.

Finally, she did not consider what it would happen if she shivered again, for a different reason, and in response to his questioning look, breathed in his ear that her thigh was cold too. He would have moved his hand a little higher as she shuddered. His touch would be somewhere between affectionate and seductive, but if he moved his hand any higher, it would definitely be scandalous. He would lean over, kiss her just below her ear, and ask if she was warmed up yet...

"Watch out, watch out!" a soprano voice sang in German. Peggy's attention was drawn back to the stage a duet began.

The main plot of the operetta involved a young widow who had inherited a huge fortune and therefore a number of unscrupulous suitors. But what caught Peggy's attention this time was the secondary characters, a married woman and a man who was courting her. The woman was clearly very attracted to the man, but she kept insisting that she was respectable and would never have an affair. In the duet, she warned him that he should watch out; he was playing with fire and would get burned. He countered that it didn't matter: true love dares and doesn't watch out.

As the scene on stage shifted again, Peggy wrestled her heavy coat on and settled in to watch the rest of the act. She wasn't sure if she had any choice in the matter anymore. She was playing with fire. She just hoped she wouldn't get burned.

***

Peggy smoothed her skirt as she sat down in a desk with her laptop to take notes. It was Monday morning, the beginning of the last phase of her graduate seminar; the final two weeks consisted entirely of student presentations.

The assignment was to identify a gap in the historical scholarship to date and offer a detailed proposal for research at an archive. They were supposed to write the proposal as if they were actually applying for a grant to conduct the research; she even had them include a proposed budget. Peggy liked to give her students practical assignments that reflected things that an academic historian actually had to do.

Each presenter also had to take questions from Peggy and from the other students. She took detailed notes and was good at thinking on her feet. She enjoyed the back-and-forth discussion with students, although she wasn't sure they enjoyed it.

There were three presentations today, and Steve had of course signed up for the first slot. After the presentation, Peggy would give each student a written commentary along with their grade. It was the last thing she had to evaluate him on, and she was looking forward to being completely done with it, even though she would still technically be his teacher until she could turn grades in at the end of next week.

Steve's presentation was excellent, as usual. Not only did he follow the guidelines of what she was looking for to the letter, something that a surprising number of students often failed to do, but every part of his proposed project showed his clear thinking and problem-solving abilities.  
  
When he was finished, she asked him for clarification of a couple of details. Since she really had found little to criticize in his presentation, she fell back on one of her standard questions, whether the student planned to actually pursue the project.

"Do you plan to apply for funding anywhere to carry out the project?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't think that will be possible," he answered. "I need to be here all next year to finish my coursework for my M.A., and I'm not planning on going on for a Ph.D. And I'm not in the history program, so it's a little outside of my main area."

And just like that, reality intruded on all of her pleasant musings about him. As she had said before, he was just passing through town.

Peggy shifted slightly in her seat and addressed the rest of the class. "Are there any other questions?"

"What program are you in?" a blonde student, Ms. Lorraine, asked. This type of personal inquiry was not the kind of content-focused question that Peggy wanted the students to ask.

"The M.A. in military sciences," Steve answered, looking at the clock and then over at Peggy, uncertain if he should sit down since the time allotted for his presentation and the questions was up.

Peggy cleared her throat, about to thank Steve for his presentation and tell the next student to get ready, but Lorraine interrupted her.

"You know," she continued, "when I was looking into grants for my project, I found one that was available for summer research. I'd be happy to share my notes with you."

"Thanks, that'd be great," Steve replied.

Peggy cut in before their exchange could go any further. "That's all the time we have for the first presentation. Thank you."

  
***

The next day a winter storm blew into town. The forecasters liked to call it a "wintry mix." Peggy thought it was a cold version of hell itself. Snow, sleet, and freezing rain in an unpredictable, constantly changing combination that made driving a nightmare and even going outside unthinkable, as far as she was concerned.

Peggy sat down at her laptop and sighed. She had nothing else she had to be on campus for, except her office hours. She knew it wasn't the best course of action to sit in her house and sulk, but she didn't want to see him or talk to him. And since when did she make good decisions, she thought wryly. She typed up an email saying that her office hours were cancelled and sent it out to all of her students in both of her classes. Though she was fairly certain only one student would pay any attention to it, or care.

Angie, who was from a place in the midwest with even worse winter weather, something Peggy refused to imagine, was undaunted by the prospect of driving. She offered to pick up their favorite pizza and bring it over to Peggy's for dinner, just as Peggy had done when she was sick. This time the pizza was accompanied by a salad and a good bottle of red wine instead of milkshakes, however.

Peggy was in a lousy mood, and she knew it, and she didn't care. She talked more than Angie did through the meal, detailing what had annoyed her about various emails she had gotten that day, complaining about the weather, and also about the fact that all the good tv shows went on hiatus just as she had a little more free time.

"Oh, and you won't believe what Jack Thompson did," Peggy continued. "I had to send a very simple email about a student's M.A. exams, and he wrote back making it out like I didn't give him enough notice and bragging about a paper he's getting published, and he CC'd it to three other people."

"Well, you know what I always say. The more unhappy people are, the more difficulties they make at work. Speaking of which, you're in fine form tonight."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that you're in an awful mood, and I don't think it's because of any of the things you've mentioned. What's up?"

Peggy didn't bother to deny it; she just sipped her wine. "It's nothing, really."

She took another sip. She couldn't avoid telling Angie, not at this point. And she wasn't going to hear another lecture about how she should own up to her feelings. So she forced herself to just spit it out. "It's just something that Steve Rogers said in my class yesterday. They're doing final presentations, and they have to propose an actual archival research project. And I usually ask if they're actually going to apply for it. And he said he wouldn't, of course, because he's only going to be here for one year, and that's when it hit me, again, that there's no possibility for anything...to happen, even when he isn't my student anymore. And to top it off, this female student--" Peggy spat out the words as if she were saying 'demon from hell'--"was asking him all these questions and offering to meet with him to tell him about some grant or some nonsense."

"I thought you said that you just maybe had a small crush," Angie said, noticing Peggy's agitation.

"Well, maybe it's gone well beyond that, at least in my head."

"So was that presentation the last part of his grade?"

"Yes."

"You're all done with his grade," Angie repeated seriously. "Nothing else to evaluate?"

"Yes, I finished it today. His grade and the two other students who presented. I've already sent them feedback on their presentations. What difference does it make?"

"Well, there's something I wanted to tell you about. I didn't want to mention anything to you until grades were officially turned in, but if you've finished his grade, I say that's good enough."

"Sam and I had a little chat on Thanksgiving while you two were dancing," Angie continued. "And I happen to know that Steve is definitely interested in you."

Peggy sat totally still and just blinked. "So, what exactly did he say?" she asked, suddenly very interested in her napkin.

"Sam said that Steve said he had a crush on you."

"Just a crush, that doesn't mean anything."

"Right, just like your 'crush.' I think it's more than a crush, and so does Sam. The way you two were looking at each other, the way you act around each other. And Sam said that Steve's not some flirt who's playing around."

"I didn't think that; he just doesn't seem the type."

"So if you think that his totally generic, expected answer is some kind of indication that he's not interested in you, I think you couldn't be more wrong. I really think you're blowing this out of proportion. What would you expect him to say in that situation? What would you say in class if one of your students asked you if you were going to be here next year?"

"I'd tell them that I have a sabbatical and expect to be out of the country."

"And would that be some kind of coded message that you're not available for a relationship?"

"No," she admitted.

"And whatever this other student said to him, was there any other possible polite response in open class?"

"Not really."

"Well then, stop sulking."

"I'm not sulking. I'm just pensive."

"Don't think that just because you use a fancy word that that makes you less sulky. I know that trick. I invented it."

Peggy smiled a little in spite of herself. Angie got up and came over to her, giving her a big hug. "I don't know how this is all going to turn out, but I know it's going to be ok. Ok?"

Peggy nodded weakly.

"Now for some really serious matters," Angie smiled. "What do you have around here for dessert?"

***

The next day in class, Peggy could hardly look at him. She wasn't sure anymore if it was out of embarrassment over what Angie had revealed or lingering disappointment over what had happened on Monday. What Angie had said about his answer not being any real indication of his plans made sense, but she still felt unsettled. She was just glad she wasn't teaching the class anymore and could focus her attention on evaluating the other students' presentations.

Class ended early, and Steve made a beeline for her as she put away her things. "I was sorry to see that you had to cancel your office hours," he began. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, it was just too much of a mess to drive in," she answered, not looking at him.

"I'm sure you're very busy, but do you have any time to meet later in the week?"

"I'm sorry. Not this week. But I'll have my regular office hours next week," she said as she glanced over at him briefly.

"All right," he said, waiting for her to look up. She didn't, and instead continued shuffling papers around in her bag.

"Where are you headed after this?" he asked.

"Just back to my office."

"I'll walk with you," he said, although he actually needed to go in the opposite direction. He just wanted to keep her talking so he could find out what was wrong.

They headed out of the building in the direction of Peggy's office. "The presentations have been going well, I think," he offered.

"Yes," she agreed.

"I appreciated the feedback you sent me on mine."

"You did an excellent job," she said, but without any enthusiasm. "It's a shame you won't have any opportunity to carry it out, given that your future plans are so inflexible."

There was something in her voice when she said that, some emotion that he couldn't quite identify. But he sensed that their exchange in class was the source of what was bothering her. He continued the topic, hoping to get at whatever the problem was.

"I wouldn't say my plans are inflexible. I mean, when I started here I planned to just do this two-year program. But who knows what the future has in store for anyone? Things can change on a dime when you come across something, or someone, unexpected."

She stopped walking and turned to look at him. "Do you really mean that?" she asked.

"Every word," he said, looking at her sincerely.

"You always say just what's on your mind, don't you?" she said, the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.

"I try to, Professor," he said, still puzzled about what exactly had brought about the change in her tone.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Captain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original German libretto by Victor Leon and Leon Stein
> 
> Gib acht! Gib acht,   
> mein Freund, gib acht!  
> Und spiele mit dem Feuer nicht!  
> Eh Du's gedacht, wirds rasch entfacht,   
> Aus Funken eine Flamme bricht!  
> Sehr gefährlich ist des Feuers Macht,  
> Wenn man sie nicht bezähmt, bewacht!  
> Wer das nicht kennt, sich leicht verbrennt!  
> Nimm vor dem Feuer Dich in acht!
> 
>  
> 
> Literal English translation from http://www.aria-database.com/translations/lustige_witwe.txt
> 
>  
> 
> Watch out! Watch out!  
> My friend, watch out!  
> And don't play with fire!  
> Before you know it, it will be quickly kindled,  
> From sparks a flame breaks out!  
> Very dangerous is the fire's power,  
> If one does not tame it, watch it!  
> Who knows this not, is easily burned!  
> Watch out for the fire!
> 
> English Adaptation by Richard Leighton, which is not literal but keeps the rhyme scheme and meter: 
> 
> Beware my friend; Take care, my friend,  
> It's dangerous to play with fire.  
> The flame you've fanned  
> Gets out of hand,  
> And consequences may be dire.  
> It's romantic to be unconcerned,  
> But this you should by now have learned: a simple rule  
> "Who plays with fire will get burned."


	13. Chapter 13

Neither cold showers nor long hot sessions at the gym were helping. Steve tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. He didn't even want to know what time it was.

It was Sunday night, and the last week of classes would begin tomorrow. Throughout the semester, he hadn't been able to decide which night of the week was the worst; each one had its own special type of torture.

Mondays and Wednesdays, when he had seen her in class, but was unable to talk to her privately, left him dying to have a real conversation with her.

Tuesday nights, after he had been in her office and swore he could smell her perfume on his clothes, he was usually keyed up after had spoken with her in private, but frustrated at having to stick mostly to professional topics.

Then there was Thursday through Saturday, when he just missed her.

Sunday nights, he was full of anticipation of seeing her again and starting the fresh cycle of hell. That was when he had the most trouble sleeping. He had considered going to the later church service again this morning, hoping to run into her, but he hadn't wanted to seem like some creepy stalker, so he had gone early as he usually did.

He finally gave up, turned on the light and sat up. At least this was the last week he would be experiencing this. He saw his sketchbook peeking out of his bag on the floor. More than just a hobby, drawing had always been an outlet for him, a way to express things he wasn't ready to or didn't know how to say. He had drawn her dozens of times, and it had helped, but it wasn't anymore.

Instead he took out his notes from the only class he had a final in. He had already completed any assignments that he could get done early. The one upside to all of this was that he was getting a lot of work done. He wanted to have free time once the semester ended, either to spend with her or to sulk if necessary

The last week in particular had been a rollercoaster. Something he had said during his presentation had upset her. He had noticed it immediately when he sat down and she had avoided looking him in the eye, not giving him that small, subtle smile he always looked forward to seeing. Then she had cancelled her office hours, and had claimed to have no time to meet with him the rest of the week, again avoiding even looking at him.

When he had spoken with her on Wednesday, and said that no one ever knew what the future held, that had made things better, but he still wasn't sure why. Could the idea that he wouldn't be in town for very long possibly bother her? He didn't dare to imagine that she was that invested in the idea of a relationship with him.

Even after he had had the strange premonition that they were going to be together, and even after Sam had told him what Angie had said, doubts nagged at him. His intuition of their future was just that, his one-sided feeling. And feelings could be wrong.

  
***

It was Tuesday, and Peggy was filled with a sense of anticipation and dread.

A series of lasts lay before her, appropriate for the waning days of the year. The last week of classes. Her last class meeting, tomorrow morning. Her last office hours, today. The last time she would be alone with him, possibly forever.

She had an hour free until her office hours began, and she couldn't concentrate on her work. In a nervous frenzy, she suddenly decided to start the long-delayed task of cleaning out her office.

One positive thing she had to say about the tenure process was that it had been a good excuse for not doing other unpleasant tasks. I can't worry about cleaning out my office while I'm trying to get tenure. I can't paint my living room when I'm trying to get tenure. I can't start going to the gym when I'm trying to get tenure.

Peggy's office soon looked like a disaster area. Books were piled on the floor; stacks of papers covered every inch of the desk. In several places there were piles of napkins left over from the times she had bought pizza for her students at the end of the semester. She had found seven little packets of sugar, one knife, two forks, and six spoons. She had also found a number of random objects that she never remembered owning or bringing into the office.

Right on time, there was a knock at the door. "Come in. It's open," she called. The door opened about a foot and a half before it was stopped by one of the piles of books. "Uh, sorry," she said, pushing the pile of books out of the way and knocking them all over the floor in the process.

Steve picked his way through the piles of books. "So was there a team of people who did this, or just you?" he asked, gesturing at the mess.

"Just me," she answered. "I've been doing some spring cleaning in here."

He handed her a cup. "It's a cappuccino with one raw sugar." He had found out what her preferred drink was over the terrible coffee in the church hall.

"Bless you," she said, taking the cup from him.

"Spring cleaning? You're late."

"I am. Or early. Not sure which," she smiled.

She was bent down, cleaning out the contents of her drawer, where she had found two VHS tapes and some nail polish. She had no recollection of ever having owned either of them.

He gestured at the VHS tapes as he sat down. "You should hang onto those. I have a feeling they're going to win out over Betamax."

She laughed, "You think so?"

"I know this sounds unlikely," she continued, "but I seriously believe that someone comes in this office at night and puts random things in here. It's the only plausible explanation for how it got in this state."

"The _only_ plausible explanation?" he asked, laughing. "So can I help you with anything?"

"Do you like to dust?"

"Love it," he answered.

***

Steve was dusting off her shelves and carefully replacing the books while Peggy sorted through papers. They had chatted about this and that, both of them in high spirits.

She had often felt renewed energy from the endings and new beginnings that accompanied the change in semesters. And if there were other reasons that she was especially exuberant this semester, well, there was nothing wrong with that. Or at least there wouldn't be in a few days when she turned in her grades.

Steve had gotten distracted by one of the books he was dusting; it looked interesting. He opened it and scanned the table of contents. Peggy was sitting behind him at her desk, just watching him.

"Do you like classical music?" she asked, seemingly out of the blue.

"Yes," he replied, a little surprised at the new topic, but pleased with any opportunity to talk about more personal interests with her.

"What about opera?"

"You know, I've never been to one, but I've always wanted to go," he replied, closing the book and turning towards her.

"The music school here, it's very good."

"Have you gone to something recently?"

"Yes, just last week, in fact. _The_ _Merry_ _Widow_ , in German. It was quite good."

"Did you go with Angie--ah, Professor Cartinelli?"

"No, I usually go by myself. I don't know anyone who's that keen on it. But you should definitely go sometime, if you're interested."

"That sounds like a great idea," he agreed enthusiastically, "Maybe you could give me a heads up the next time they're performing something that you'd recommend."

"Absolutely," she answered, smiling.

The office hour passed by quickly. All Peggy's books were back on the shelf and dust-free, and she had made quite a dent in the stacks of paper. It was almost time to leave.

Steve had been looking forward to the end of the semester for so long, but now that it was here, he didn't want it to end. It was her last office hours of the semester. What if he never had the chance to really talk to her again? He had pictured the nightmare scenario in his head enough times. He would awkwardly ask her out after the semester was over, and she would awkwardly turn him down, and that would be the end of it.

"Thank you for all your help with the cleaning," she said, standing to face him.

"No problem," he said, sighing. "So, Professor, since this is your last office hours, I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate all of the extra time you've taken with me this semester, working on German and everything."

"It was my pleasure, really."

"And I also wanted to say that..." he paused. He knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn't say it. That he was desperately in love with her, that he wanted to kiss her, but that he would be content if she would just let him sit in her office and look at her for hours on end.

But he had decided that he couldn't leave without something to hold onto, a mention of seeing her again sometime, even professionally. So he was about to say that maybe they could meet for coffee sometime next semester. Not a date, but just something he could look forward to, so that he knew this wasn't the last time he was seeing her.

"Yes," she prompted.

"Maybe next semester we could..."

There was a knock at the door. "Just a second," Peggy said, as she stepped over to open it.

A young woman was at the door. "Professor Carter? I wanted to talk to you about something related to my thesis if you have a few minutes."

Peggy looked over at Steve regretfully.

"It's ok," he said to both Peggy and the student. "I was just leaving."

He gathered his things and the student stepped aside to let him out of the office.

"Ah, Captain Rogers?" Peggy called after him, and he turned to look at her.

"Will you be attending Prof. Phillips' party on Thursday?"

"Yes," he answered.

"I'll see you there, then."

It's a date, Steve thought to himself as he headed out of the building.


	14. Chapter 14

"Sam!" Steve yelled from his room. "How much do you think we're supposed to dress up for this? What are you going to wear?"

"Sam!" he repeated, already heading into his room since Sam hadn't answered in the last ten seconds. He found Sam at his desk working on his laptop.

"Didn't you hear me?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, I was thinking. What's the rush?"

"Do you think I need to wear a tie? Are you wearing a tie? What about a suit jacket?"

"No, no, and no. And could your sudden interest in fashion have anything to do with the fact that Peggy Carter mentioned this departmental party in class and will very likely be there?"

"Yes. And I know for a fact she's going to be there. She told me so herself."

"Office hours?"

"Yes, I was helping her dust her bookshelves."

"You know what, I'm not even going to ask you to explain that. I don't want to know. That's what I'll tell the dean when I'm being questioned: I don't know anything about it, sir."

"Very funny," Steve said, as he headed out of the room.

"Steve?" Sam called.

Steve came back into the room.

"Wear your darker blue dress shirt. It brings out your eyes."

"Thanks," he said smiling and heading for his own room.

"And black pants," Sam yelled. "No chinos, man!"

Five minutes later, Steve was dressed and back in Sam's room. Sam was stretched out on his bed in sweatpants, reading a book. "Aren't you ready yet?"

"When does this thing start?"

"Seven."

"It's just after six now."

"Well, we don't want to be late. What if there's traffic? What if we get lost?"

"What if you get a grip? You do realize that it's possible to drive just about anywhere in this town in under ten minutes."  
"I know," Steve said, running a hand through his hair. "It's just...grades can be turned in tomorrow."

"I know. I'm looking forward to some peace and quiet around here. We can leave at 6:40, no earlier. I don't want to be those weird people who show up early and are the only ones there. That should give you just enough time to go pick up a nice bottle of wine so we don't show up empty-handed."

"Ok. That's a good idea. I'll go do that," he said, picking his keys up off the table.

"Can you even drive in your condition?" Sam asked.

"What condition?"

"I don't even know. I've never seen you like this. Somewhere between nervous and giddy. I know drinking and driving is frowned upon, but I think you might need a shot of something to calm down...or maybe a tranquilizer dart, like when bears are terrorizing a mountain town."

"Were you watching Animal Planet this afternoon instead of finishing your paper?" Steve asked, noticing the strange turn of phrase.

"No. Yes. Maybe. It's none of your business."

  
***

Prof. Phillips and his extremely long-suffering wife threw a large holiday party every year during the last week of classes. The entire history faculty, staff, and students were invited, as well as professors and students from affiliated programs. Phillips lived in a older neighborhood a little further away from the campus that had large Victorian-era homes that seemed tailor-made for a Christmas party.

Garlands of evergreen interwoven with lights were twisted around the railings of the generous front porch where Peggy and Angie had paused. The party appeared to be in full swing inside, and they could see people drinking and chatting inside the large windows, but the front door was closed.

"I never know whether you're supposed to knock in these situations or just go in," Angie observed.

"Does my hair look ok?" Peggy asked, just as Angie was about to knock.

She turned to look it over. "It's great," Angie said. She raised her hand again, and again Peggy interrupted.

"What about my lipstick?"

Angie turned again. "Looks perfect," Angie replied. This time she just stood there, arms at her sides.

"Aren't you going to knock?" Peggy asked.

Angie decided to just open the door.

The inside of the house was just as festive as the outside. More evergreen garlands and lights were threaded through the staircase and around a large fireplace. Even though it was only a quarter after seven, the rooms were already filling up. Peggy could see a punchbowl in the dining room along with a table full of appetizers.

Angie and Peggy had just stepped inside and taken their coats off when Sam and Steve approached them. The four of them had barely exchanged greetings when Angie grabbed Sam's arm, pulling him aside.

"How are you holding up?" she asked.

"I'm good, but he's seriously a nervous wreck. You?"

"She's all over the place. Despondent, then agitated. She's making me nervous, and I'm just a bystander. If she doesn't turn in grades at the first possible opportunity tomorrow, I'm going to get her password and make them up. What kind of grade would you like?"

"Hmm...A minus."

"Not an A?"

"No, this way it wouldn't look like I was involved."

"You're a smart man, Sam Wilson."

"That's only one of my many outstanding qualities."

Peggy was still holding the Christmas cactus that she had brought as a gift for their hosts, so Steve walked over with her to greet them. She was close to Phillips and his wife, having met them even before she had begun to work there, as Phillips had been on the committee that hired her. They had both always treated her with an almost parental affection, although of course on Phillips' side it came with a substantial amount of gruffness. Peggy didn't speak with them for long as they were both soon busy with greeting other guests and supervising the food and drink.

They walked back to Sam and Angie, who fell suddenly silent as they approached. Steve immediately offered to get Peggy and Angie something to drink.

Several minutes passed as Angie, Peggy, and Sam compared notes on their favorite kinds of Christmas cookies.

"I wonder what's taking Steve so long," Sam said.

"I'll go see if I can find him," Peggy replied, heading in the same direction he had gone.  
She caught sight of him heading into the kitchen with Lorraine, the female student that had been so eager to find an excuse to meet with him. She laughed at something he said as they disappeared through the door.

Peggy decided she would get her own drink.

The open bottle of red wine that Peggy found on the sideboard was empty, so she set about opening another with a little more force than was strictly necessary. She gritted her teeth as she pulled out the cork. Jack Thompson appeared next to her, as if opening the wine had released a genie that instead of granting her wishes, was furnishing her only with things she didn't want.

"Jack, I should have expected you to turn up whenever a bottle's opened," she said acidly, as she served herself a glass.

As soon as she had set the bottle down, he picked it up, helping himself to a very generous pour.

"Peggy, I see you're as charming as always. So who was that young man you were talking with?"

"One of the students in my seminar," she answered, pouring a second glass for Angie.

"Didn't you sit with him at that conference dinner?"

"Now that you mention it, yes, I think he was at my table."

Peggy started to walk away, but Jack kept up with her. "What's your rush? Can't we have a friendly chat at a social occasion?"

"I can, but I'm not sure you're capable of it."

"Of what?"

"Of actually being friendly."

"I know I might not be as agreeable and docile as one of your graduate students, but you like a little challenge, don't you?"

"The _very_ little challenge you provide isn't quite enough to interest me," she shot back as she went to find Angie.

Peggy rejoined Angie and Sam, handing Angie the glass without a word.

"I wonder what happened to Steve?" Angie said.

"I don't know; maybe he got lost," Sam offered.

"He certainly looked like he knew where he wanted to go," Peggy snapped.

Angie and Sam exchanged a look over Peggy's tone.

A moment later, Steve arrived with two more glasses of red wine. "I'm sorry it took me so long. There weren't any more glasses when I got to where the wine was, so I went looking in the kitchen."

"Yes I saw you had some assistance," Peggy said sharply. "If we had known that it was such a demanding task that you'd need so much supervision, then we never would have sent you off on your own like that."

With that, she turned on her heel and went to say hello to two of her male colleagues who were standing a little bit away, leaving Steve perplexed and still holding both glasses.

"What did you do?" Sam asked, his arms crossed in front of him.

"Nothing. It was just like I said," he answered, looking at Peggy's back as she walked away. "There weren't any glasses, so I headed towards the kitchen. Then I ran into someone from our class, and she thought she knew where some were, so she was helping me."

"She? Who?"

"I think her name's Lorraine."

"The one who was flirting with you at the end of your presentation?"

"Flirting? What are you talking about?"

"Steve," Sam said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Let me just say that as much as I'd like to bust your chops about how painfully clueless you are, here's the short version: Peggy's jealous. Go fix it somehow."

Steve quickly connected the dots. Peggy must have seen him and thought that he was blowing her off somehow. But how was he supposed to explain anything when neither of them technically were supposed to be interested in the other? He hoped something would come to him by the time he got to where she was standing.

Peggy was engaged in the usual end-of-the-semester chat with her colleagues: how much grading they still had to do and what their plans for the break were. It was a relief to participate in relatively normal, boring party small talk. She certainly didn't want to talk to Thompson any more tonight, or ever. And she was too angry and jealous to speak to Steve at that moment, even though she knew she was probably overreacting.

As if summoned, Steve tapped her on the shoulder. She excused herself from her colleagues and turned. "What can I help you with, Captain Rogers?"

"I'd just like to clear something up."

She just looked at him, not saying anything.

"If it in any way looked like I was distracted by someone else after I had offered to bring you and Prof. Cartinelli a drink, I'm very sorry. I have absolutely no interest in spending time with anyone, that is, any _student_ from our class."

She let out a breath. "And I'm sorry if I sounded rude just now. I'm a little out of sorts tonight. You won't hold it against me?" she asked, hoping that she sounded as sincere as he had.

"I couldn't if I wanted to," he answered.

Peggy turned back to her colleagues and introduced Steve to them. Moments later, Thompson joined the group from the other direction with an eager-looking young man trailing slightly behind him. When he reached them, he introduced him as one of his new Ph.D. students. "This is Professor McMillan. And this is Professor Larsen," Jack continued, as the young man shook their hands.

Peggy was waiting for her introduction, while Jack said, "I'm sure you'll have a chance to take one of their excellent seminars over the next two years of your coursework."

He paused, taking a sip of his drink. "Oh, and this is Peggy," he added as if it were an afterthought. Peggy shook the young man's hand. "I'm Professor Carter," she said, staring daggers at Thompson.

"Professor Carter also teaches several excellent graduate seminars," Steve added, pointedly.

Peggy excused herself from the group soon afterwards, and Steve went with her.

"Who was that?" Steve asked. "He seems like a real jerk."

Peggy coughed a little on her drink. "I see how you could get that impression at first," she said evenly, trying to be professional. "But when you really get to know him, you find out that he's actually...a real asshole."

Steve did choke on his drink. "Language, Professor,"

"By the way, how would you know that I teach several excellent graduate seminars? Even if the one you've been in is excellent, the others might be awful."

"Are you saying your other classes aren't as good?"

"No, they're fantastic, but you don't know that. You aren't planning on taking another class with me, are you?" she asked, concerned.

"Absolutely not," he said, forcefully. "I don't think I could survive it."

Peggy just smiled at him. Of course he might simply mean that her class was very demanding, but she preferred another interpretation.

***

It was getting close to nine. The party was still crowded and loud and cheery, but it would probably start winding down after dessert. As cake and several types of cookies were set out on a table across the room, Angie and Peggy had been describing what the town was like once most of the students were gone, how you could park anywhere you wanted to and there were no lines at the grocery store.

"Speaking of winter break," Steve said to Peggy. "Do you have office hours during exam week?"

"No," Peggy answered. "It's not really necessary since neither of my classes have finals." Noticing Steve's crestfallen look, she quickly added, "Of course, I'm available for any student who wants to talk to me. About anything. For any reason." She smiled at him, trying to sound encouraging.

He smiled back at her. "Actually, there is something I'd like to discuss with you after you've turned in the grades for our class," he said, bouncing lightly on his heels.

"Of course," she answered, her palms starting to sweat a little. "I'm done with all of my grading, so I should be able to submit them tomorrow. Just send me an email to let me know when you'd like to meet."

Peggy left the three of them to survey the desserts. She had barely taken a look when Thompson again approached her.

"Why don't we go to dinner sometime, Peggy. In fact, how about tonight?"

"Oh, I've had quite enough to eat tonight, and I think you've had quite enough to drink," she said, noticing the heightened color in his cheeks.

"Now, Dr. Carter, you can't be so picky," he said, raising his voice so any number of people around them could hear. "I bet you haven't been out with a man since old Daniel dumped you."

"And now I've _heard_ quite enough," she said, turning to walk away.

"What's the matter, Peggy, don't you date men your own age anymore?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she spat at him.

"Just that you seem to be spending an awful lot of time with your male graduate students. I guess that's one way to find some company, with someone who can't really say no."

"Go to hell!" she turned, starting to storm off.

"I'm not finished talking to you." He grabbed her arm, hard. Her empty plate clattered to the floor, and heads turned to look from all around the room. She jabbed the heel of her shoe into his foot as hard as she could, simultaneously jerking her arm free. Then she froze, realizing for the first time how much attention their confrontation had drawn.

"Goddammit, Peggy!" he shouted, followed by a string of curse words that would make a sailor blush, and started to take a step towards her again when someone stepped in between them.

"Maybe you shouldn't grab Prof. Carter's arm like that," Steve said, glaring. Sam was right next to him, also staring Thompson down.

"Maybe you should mind your own business."

"When you're bothering someone who wants to be left alone, it's everyone's business," he said, calmly.

"Who the hell do you think you are? You can't tell me what to do." When Steve didn't move out of his way, Thompson took a swing at him. Steve easily blocked the punch, grabbed Thompson's arm, and promptly twisted it behind his back. "I don't think you want to do that, Professor," he said, his jaw set.

At that moment, drawn by the commotion, Philips arrived on the scene. He looked from Carter, to Rogers, to Thompson. "What's going on here?" he barked.

A half-dozen people surged towards him and simultaneously started to recount the incident.

Peggy bolted out of the room towards the nearest door when Phillips intervened. She found herself in the backyard on a small patio.

She was sure it would be department gossip for years. She could imagine the conversations: Wasn't that Prof. Carter? Was that Prof. Thompson who grabbed her arm? What's going on between them? Are they a couple? No, but she used to date his best friend. What happened with them? He dumped with her when he got a better job. Who was that other man? One of her students, what's going on there...

Hot tears of anger and embarrassment sprang to her eyes.

It was everything she hated about her job, about her life right now, in one neat package. A Christmas present. Everyone commenting on her, speculating about her, scrutinizing her.

As soon as she could pull herself together and find Angie, she was leaving. She reached into her small handbag for her phone. She turned as the door opened, light from the party momentarily brightening the patio. It was Steve.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," she said, rubbing her arm where Thompson had grabbed it. She might even have a bruise.

"That's not what I was talking about," he said glancing down at her arm. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice wobbled, betraying her.

He leaned slightly towards her, peering carefully at her face in the darkness. He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and handed it to her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that happened. What can I do?"

She didn't answer; she just wiped her face. Somehow his sympathy had made her feel worse.

Steve had thought that the worst of it was over, that he would be fine making it through the last few days before grades were turned in. But to see her upset and not be able to hold her, comfort her, really do anything, was agony.

Peggy shivered.

"You must be freezing," he said. She was. It was winter in the Midwest, probably about 20 degrees out. He instinctively reached out to rub her shoulders and upper arms to warm her up, but froze in the middle of the gesture and put his arms back down to his sides. "Don't go anywhere," he said. "I'll be right back." He crossed the patio in a few long strides and entered the house. In less than a minute he was back outside with his jacket, which he wrapped around her shoulders.

"Won't you be cold?" she asked

"I'll be fine. I run hot--remember?"

She smiled weakly at his reference to their talk at the conference dinner.

"But you can't stay out here all night," he added.

"I'm not going back in there," she said emphatically.

"Did you drive here?"

"No, Angie picked me up."

"Can I drive you home?"

"I wouldn't want to cause you any more trouble than I already have."

"It's no trouble. In fact, I'd feel much better if I could do something."

"All right," she agreed. "I'll text Angie to get my coat when she leaves."

They walked around to the front of the house and down the street a short way to his car, and he opened the passenger side door for her.

She directed him to her house. The rest of the time they were both silent. When they arrived, he put his arm around the back of her seat and put the car in reverse, parking parallel to the curb. Finally, with the car stopped in front of her house, she had calmed down and felt she owed him an explanation.

"I suppose you must be wondering what all that was about," she finally said.

"Only if you want to tell me. Is he an old boyfriend?" he asked, trying to sound unconcerned.

"Thompson? God no."

Steve let out a breath.

"But it's not far off. He has asked me out, but it's just because I used to date a friend of his. It's some kind of bizarre competitive urge, no real interest on his side I'm sure, and definitely not on mine. I was dating a friend of his, someone in another department. This friend, Daniel, got a job offer on the west coast." She paused, wanting to choose her next words carefully.

"And he broke up with you?" Steve asked, not able to wait for the next sentence.

"Well, not exactly. He asked me to come with him, but I would have had to give up my job. We had a huge fight about it, and parted ways, but it didn't end well, and..."

"Do you wish you had gone with him?" he interrupted. This time, he didn't try to sound as if it didn't matter to him. He couldn't believe that he was this close to not being her student anymore only to find out that maybe she was still thinking about someone else.

"No, I don't wish I had gone with him." She told him more about Daniel, how long they had dated, how long it had been since they had broken up, how he wasn't a bad person but that they were a poor match. That in the end he hadn't understood how her career was just as important to her as his was to him.

"The reason I'm so upset doesn't have anything to do with my previous relationship. I'm upset because I hate everyone in the department knowing my personal business. After being under the microscope last year for my tenure review, I'd just like to be anonymous for a while. And I can't think of a worse way to draw attention to myself than something like that, sure to become the subject of gossip. I'd be happy if people forgot I even worked here for a while, forgot I existed."

"You know that people are always focused on themselves most of all. They may talk about it for a day, but then it'll be forgotten."

"You really think so?"

"Really. Besides, they'll be gossiping about Thompson's behavior, not yours. How he made a drunk fool of himself, grabbed a colleague's arm and could have charges brought against him, and how he very nearly got his ass kicked into the middle of next week."

"By you?"

"No, by you. I was calm. You should have seen the look on your face, though. I wouldn't want to mess with you."

He seemed so sincere that she laughed for the first time in what seemed like forever, long and hard, at the absurdity of the whole situation, letting out all the tension of the past hour. When they had both stopped laughing, a different mood unexpectedly took hold of her as she sat alone with him in the dark.

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice low.

He gave her a questioning look.

"Are you sure you wouldn't want to...mess with me, Captain?" The way she lingered on the words "mess'" and "captain" made his pulse quicken.

"Well, if you put it that way..." he said, matching her tone, "then I guess the only thing I have to say is that I wish I had dropped your class."

She was momentarily puzzled, fairly certain he wasn't insulting her, but not sure exactly what he was getting at.

"I just really wish I wasn't one of your students right now," he said, leaning the tiniest bit towards her. The look he fixed her with made her heart flutter.

"So do I," she answered.

"But I suppose we can talk about that after you turn your grades in."  
  
"I'm looking forward to it," she said.

Another long silent moment stretched out between them.

"So, I suppose I should go in," she said finally.

"I suppose," he said, staring at her.

"I'd invite you in, but..."

"But that wouldn't be appropriate," he smiled ruefully.

"I should give you your jacket back," she said, starting to slip it off her shoulder.

"Let me walk you to the door; it's really cold out." He quickly went around the car, opening the door for her. They walked to the front porch. Peggy got her keys out, and turned them over in her hand as they again locked eyes for a long moment.

She unlocked her door, stepped in, and handed his jacket out to him. "Thank you for the ride home, and for listening to me, and for everything."

"It was my pleasure, Professor."

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

Peggy had never felt so relieved at turning in grades. It always meant freedom for a few weeks, making her own schedule. But this time, it meant freedom to think about whomever she chose however she wished. She had tried to force herself not to dwell on the situation, not to think about him, to focus on her work. Now she could at least think what she wanted without feeling guilty. She remembered his body pressed to hers when they played pool. She imagined it happening again, but when they were alone somewhere. She imagined turning around, so that they were face-to-face. She imagined his beautiful eyes, his hands, his lips.

Nothing might ever come of it. But at least now she could imagine it.

She couldn't believe it when she gotten to Steve's name near the bottom of the list. After all her worries about ethics, it turned out he was taking the class pass/fail. No one could possibly question that he had done well enough in the class to pass it.

Peggy submitted her grades electronically at noon, and had started checking her email at 12:01 to see if he had written her yet to set up a meeting. She knew that it was ridiculous, and she knew that she was making it worse, watching her email like a hawk, but she just couldn't stop. Her self-discipline was all used up.

She considered it an accomplishment if she was able to go ten minutes without looking at it. She tried not to worry, but the same voice in her head was saying that she wouldn't hear from him again, and the thought of that made her miserable, for all that she had said she wasn't going to get emotionally invested in him.

And if he did write her, what was she going to do then? If he asked her out on a date even, there was no point in starting a relationship that had no future. She knew all of this; she had been over it in her head a thousand times, and hashed it out more than once with Angie. But here she was, taking out her phone to check her email once again.

Not only had she not heard from Steve, but she had very little email from anyone else. She found the quiet ominous. She had half expected to have a message from Phillips asking for her side of what happened last night. Or to find out that Jack was filing a complaint about how she stomped on his foot; she wouldn't put it past him. But apparently Phillips had heard enough from the numerous witnesses, and Thompson was somewhere licking his wounds.

The things Thompson had said still stung, and were uncomfortably close to many of her own concerns about pursuing any kind of a relationship with Steve. Thompson might be a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid, or unobservant.

There were half a dozen reasons she shouldn't start a relationship with Steve, and only one reason she should: she wanted to. She had never wanted anything so much.

It was the last day of the semester, and she had just gotten out of her last meeting. She had felt listless, sitting as far in the back as she could and doodling on a notepad. She hadn't even bothered to dress properly since she wasn't teaching.

It was after six when she came back to her office to get her things.

The next time she would have to officially be in her office would be next semester. She had cleaned it up enough since Tuesday so that only a few odd stacks of paper remained here and there on her desk. She didn't even bother to turn on the light, but left the door open about an inch. The light from the hallway was enough for her to locate her coat. As she picked it up, she paused and stared out the window into the blackness. This was how the spring semester would start, in darkness. There were days when she went to campus in darkness and came home in darkness. Under normal circumstances, she loathed it, but now it seemed utterly bleak.

There was a soft knock at her door.

"Professor Carter?" It was a man's voice, and she recognized it immediately. She opened the door the rest of the way and moved out the way to let him step in. He closed the door most of the way behind him, still letting light in from the hallway.

"I happened to see your door open. I hope I'm not bothering you, Professor."

"You don't have to call me 'Professor'. You're not my student anymore."

"What would you like me to call you? Margaret?" he asked softly. It sent a shiver down her spine when he said her given name. She should probably get him out of her office before she embarrassed herself.

"You know very well that I go by Peggy."

"All right. Peggy. And you can call me Steve."

"Do you insist on 'Captain Steve,' or is just 'Steve' acceptable?"

He smiled, ever unruffled. "Just Steve is fine."

An awkward pause followed. He seemed to remember that he had initiated this interaction, and fished around in his pockets for something. I wanted to ask your opinion about a book I saw, if you're familiar with it and think it would be worth reading. I have the title here somewhere."

She knew that she should turn on the light, tell him to sit down, and ask him about the book, all professional, but her heart was heavy with the realization that he wasn't her student anymore, and nothing had changed. He had still called her professor, still showed up to ask her questions. She thought that there was an understanding between them, especially since last night, but he obviously wasn't going to act on it anytime soon. Maybe she had just been seeing what she wanted to see.

She felt vulnerable. She didn't have any of her armor on: her professional clothes, her professional title, the structure of classrooms and official office hours. She hadn't expected to be talking to anyone tonight, least of all him. This was the first time they had been alone without anything official between them. She was just...Peggy, wearing jeans and a sweater.

As he stepped toward her with the paper, she was suddenly aware of how close he was standing to her. Too close for a polite distance. She could smell a hint of aftershave, nothing fancy, and see his long eyelashes in the dim light. She instinctively tried to take a step backwards to re-establish a normal distance, but she was blocked by her desk. She ended up half-perched on it and still much too close to him. He was just... standing there, looking down at her, undisturbed by their closeness. Her heart was pounding in her chest so loudly she thought he must be able to hear it. Suddenly, but slowly, he leaned his head down towards her even closer. She meant to step away, she should, but instead she found herself arching her feet to bring her face closer to his. He took her face in his hands, and gently, so gently and carefully, pressed a kiss to her lips.

They kissed again, gently, sweetly. His lips were so soft.   
  
They kissed again, less gently. She didn't know when it happened, but soon they were entangled in each other. His arms were around her waist. One of her hands was on the smooth skin of his neck below his close-cropped hair, the other threaded through it.

Once they started kissing they couldn't stop. He gave her every kiss he had saved for her throughout the semester. One for how she had looked at him for a moment at the conference dinner, one for when she showed him how to dance, one for each of the hours he had spent sketching her. She gave him one for their walk in the rain, one for the moment their bodies touched when he showed her how to play pool, and one for their talk in the car after he drove her home.

She pressed closer, her body relaxing into his. She had never had kisses like this, raw with desire and languid at the same time, savoring each other like they had all the time in world. His mouth tasted faintly of mint, but mostly just of him, and she relished his taste as she breathed in his scent; they made her dizzy. He made her dizzy. She murmured his name with a sigh. He was drinking from her lips in a steady rhythm, one kiss melting into the next.

They were pressed so close that he didn't know where his body ended and hers began. He had come to her office to ask her out in person, having heard from Sam through Angie that she had a late meeting. But at the last minute, he had lost his nerve, afraid that she would say no. His back-up plan was to ask her about a book to buy some time, but as he had stood there, so, so close to her in the darkened office, he had just kissed her, letting that say what he couldn't.

He poured two months of desperate longing into his kisses. The feel of her body pressed to his, the taste of her, was at the same time too much for his senses and not enough. The more he got of her, the more he wanted. He wanted all of her. The way she said his name, hell, just hearing her say his first name after so long, sent him reeling.

At her age, Peggy had thought she was done with new experiences, but this was new. She had never wanted anyone this much, and she couldn't help herself. She could have cried with relief at finally being able to touch him, to kiss him. She had fallen asleep at night thinking about this, woken up wanting it.

"I can't...we can't..." was all she managed to get out.

"Why not?" He asked absently, as he pushed the scarf she had wrapped around her neck out the way and kissed his way down her neck, from just below her earlobe to where her neck met her shoulder.

She tilted her head to give him better access to her neck. It was hard to concentrate. Why shouldn't they be doing this again? "Not sure. Lost my train of thought." He moved back up to her lips. After a few more kisses, she separated enough to say something. She had to get control of this situation. "We can't do this because you're a student."

"Why? As you just pointed out, you're not my teacher anymore."

"It's still odd. We still have a professional relationship."

"No it's not. I'm not even in this department. Now that I'm not in your class, we have no more of a relationship than two strangers meeting in a bar who find out they work for the same company."

"Do you often pick up women at bars, then?"

"If there were any women like you there, I would." He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of it. Sighing, he then resumed kissing her neck on the other side.

She flushed with pleasure at the compliment. She was glad it was dark, and he couldn't see her face too clearly. She found his lips again. Long minutes filled up with more kisses, each one different and impossibly better than the last.

His hands at her waist were so warm, moving gently on the small of her back, and her skin was so sensitive to every slight movement of his fingers.

The back of his neck tingled under her touch as her fingers shifted softly with each kiss, with each small movement of their bodies.

She pulled the slightest bit away from him, looking up at his face with wonder that she was free to touch him. They weren't doing anything wrong. She traced the side of his face with her finger from his temple slowly down to his chin. He closed his eyes. His features were so beautiful. She repeated the gesture down the other side of his face. "You're too young for me," she said with a note of regret.

As her fingers left his chin, he caught her hand in his own and pressed it to his lips. It was such a tender gesture that her breath caught in her throat.

"I doubt it," he answered, as he released her hand, brushing his lips against hers. "Besides, you don't even know how old I am."  
  
"How old are you?" she asked.

"You have nothing to worry about. I'm nearly 18," he whispered as he nuzzled against her ear.

"Seriously."

"Oh, seriously. Well seriously, I'm 32. And going by the year you graduated college, you're 40. That's not that much of an age difference."

"I'm almost 41."

"What is this, the playground? I'm 32 and three-quarters. So there."

He returned to kissing her neck again, working his way down from just beneath her ear. She might have thought that by now their kisses would have become harder and more insistent. But instead he was moving even slower than before, his lips so soft, barely pressing on her neck, tasting her. Goosebumps bloomed across her neck and back, and she shivered slightly. "Next objection?" he whispered as his lips lingered on her neck.

She was running out of arguments. "I have lots of faults. I'm terribly grumpy in the morning, and sometimes the rest of the day." She pressed soft kisses along his jawline as she spoke, His head was spinning; as good as each kiss felt, he couldn't wait for her to work her way around.

He caught her mouth with his, his hands moving up to tangle in her hair. He ran his tongue along her lower lip, and she opened her mouth to his. Her office was dark, and a chill flowed from the large window, making the heat radiating from his mouth, his breath, his body even more irresistible.

"Easy, I love getting up early and making coffee. And then managing people's bad moods. Ask Sam if you need a character reference. Give me something tougher."

"You'll be done with your degree in another year at the most, and then you'll be gone. And I may be spending all next year in Germany on my sabbatical. I don't want to be in a long-distance relationship, and I don't want something short term. I'm too old for short-term."

"That's the first legitimate problem you've come up with."

She knew it. She knew this was too good to be true. She couldn't believe she had actually said it, the one thing she really feared, and something that was completely inappropriate right at the beginning of a relationship.

"I understand," he continued thoughtfully. "You're saying you need some kind of a commitment. Is this what was bothering you last week? When you wouldn't look me in the eye?"

"Yes," she answered as she started to pull away from him, hoping to make a quick exit.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his arms still wrapped around her waist.

She stepped away from him and grabbed her jacket. "I know that's just about the worst thing you can say at the beginning of a relationship. I know it makes me sound crazy and desperate." He started to say something, but she cut him off.

If she hadn't seemed so distressed, Steve almost could have laughed with relief. This was the big problem, so insurmountable that she thought there was no possibility for a relationship? One of them not returning the other's feelings, that was a problem. If he had to change his career plans because she had to stay where she was, that was a detail. They were possibly at the beginning of a life together: a job was just a job. He wasn't sure how to make that clear to her without sounding crazy and desperate himself, but then he decided he didn't care how he sounded.

"It's all right," she said, letting him off the hook. "Forget I said it. In fact, forget all of this. I --"

"Would you like to get married?"

There weren't many things he could have said that would stop her in her tracks, but this was one of them.

"Is that a proposal?"

"Yes and no. No in the sense that I'd really prefer do it properly, and after we've been dating a while, and also in that I'm not expecting you to answer me now. Yes in the sense that that's where I see this relationship going, provided you don't change your mind about me. My mind is made up. I know we both have plans in place that don't include the other person, but those plans can adapt to us being together. You can send me away, but you can't scare me off."

She didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say.

"Peggy, just think about something for a minute-- do you trust me?"

She hesitated. Moments from their encounters over the past semester flashed through her mind. Had he ever said anything he didn't mean? Made a promise that he hadn't kept? Had he ever been anything but concerned for her feelings, her welfare? From borrowing her book up to the present moment, he had never let her down.

She did trust him. "Yes," she nodded.

He cupped her face with his hand, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "I know you've been burned before, and not even that long ago. But I want you to know that I am not going to hurt you," he said, emphasizing each word. "You will, however, break my heart if you pull away from me now in anticipation of problems that we don't even have yet."

What had she gotten herself into with this man? Peggy had had plenty of relationships; she was used to men who said one thing and meant another, who clawed for the upper hand, who were competitive, petty, passive aggressive. And to tell the truth, at times she had given as good as she had got. But what did you do with someone this honest and vulnerable? Who wasn't playing any games?

There was only one answer that occurred to her. You held onto someone like that for dear life, and you never let go.

So that's what she did. She threw her arms around his neck, held him to her, and kissed him. Then she whispered in his ear, in case it wasn't clear, "I would never hurt you either, darling."

She felt a small shudder pass through him. "I like it when you call me that," he said, his voice low.

"Darling," she repeated in his ear, then nipped lightly at his earlobe.

He kissed her breathless. When they finally paused, he pressed his forehead to hers.

"So now that all that's settled, I've been wanting to ask you: would you like to go out on a date with me?"

"I'd like that very much," she smiled.


	16. Chapter 16

They burst out of the history building into the cold night air, holding hands, more than a little giddy.  It was only a little over a ten-minute walk to the parking garage.

It took them nearly thirty minutes.

It was after seven, and the campus was mostly empty.  They were walking along hand-in-hand and had only gotten as far as the next building when Steve pulled Peggy into the shadows.

“Tell me I'm not your student anymore,” he said, like it was the sexiest thing he could imagine.

“You're not my student anymore,” she said, a little breathless.

As she finished the sentence, he was already kissing her desperately, his hands warm on her neck.

After a few minutes, they resumed walking toward the garage.  They had only walked a little further when Peggy decided she wanted to try it.  She headed off of the sidewalk onto the grass, leading him under one of the campus’ stately old trees.  "You say it," she said, her eyes sparkling.  "Tell me I'm not your teacher anymore."

"You're not my teacher anymore," he said, beaming, already sliding his arms around her waist.

“Oh, that is good,” she said, delighted at the effect the simple statement had on her.  She pulled him down for a long, slow kiss.

They made good progress for a while.  The last building between them and the parking garage was a high rise, and the broad sidewalk ran under it with a number of large pillars placed at regular intervals.  This time, Steve pulled her over to one of them, pressing her back slightly into the pillar as he leaned into her.

“Say it,” he said, his voice low and almost pleading.  She had been overwhelmed by so many things in the last hour:  relief that his feelings were mutual, amazement at his confidence that they could work any problems, actual incredulity at the fact that he was talking about marriage.  Caught up in this swirl of emotions and entranced by his kisses, his touch, she hadn’t considered the implications of their brand-new relationship.

Until now.  The energy between them had changed.  Maybe it was the smoldering gaze he fixed on her, or the way she noticed his broad shoulders as he stepped towards her, or maybe it was the way his body pressed hers back against the pillar, but she suddenly realized, in a way she hadn’t before, that sometime in the not too distant future, he would take her to bed.  She just stared at him for a long moment.  She put her hand on his neck, brushing her thumb back and forth, almost in a daze.  “Steve,” she finally whispered, her voice lingering on his name, caressing it, “you’re not my student anymore.”  

The concrete was cold on her back, but the front of her body was on fire.  She couldn’t pay much attention to this round of kissing; all she could think about was how his body was molded to hers, just like it would be when they would…This time, when they started walking again, she felt a little shaky and light-headed.  

They made it to the parking garage and into Peggy’s car without further incident.  Once they were inside her car, however, she paused.  “Before we get going, there’s something I need to tell you,” she said seriously.

He waited for her to speak further, intent and concerned.

She leaned towards him until her face was only inches away from his, slid her hand from the gear shift to rest lightly on his knee, and then whispered, “You’re not my student anymore, darling.”  

And it was probably no more than fifteen minutes later that Peggy’s car pulled out of the garage.

***

 

Steve entered his apartment at about ten looking a little rumpled.  They had had something to eat at a cafe, or at least he was pretty sure he had eaten something.  All he could think about was her.  Her hand in his, her smile, her warm, soft lips moving against his, her whole body pressed to his.

Sam was on the couch with his usual configuration of television, laptop and books.  But he couldn’t concentrate on any of it, constantly checking the time.  As soon as the door opened, he fired questions at Steve, “Well, what happened?  Did you ask her out?  What happened?”

Steve sat down on the couch, a far-away look in his eyes.  “It’s amazing,” he said.  “She’s amazing.”  

“I take it that’s a yes.”

“Yes,” he answered, his thoughts still clearly somewhere else.  “Tomorrow night we’re having our first official date, dinner at her house.”

“Well, tell me about it.  How did it happen?  What did you say?  What did she say?”

“I came into her office, and I was going to ask her out, but it was intimidating, and I kind of lost my nerve.  So instead I started to ask her about a book.  And then I was standing so close to her, I just kissed her.”

“What did she say?”

“Actually the whole time we were kissing, she was coming up with reasons why we shouldn’t be dating.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.  I guess I had good answers,” Steve sighed.  “Anyway, that’s all there really is to say,” he concluded, standing.

“Wait a minute.  Where’s the fire?  There’s something you're not telling me,” Sam said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Well, she was concerned that there was no future for the relationship.  That I'm only here for one more year and that she might be gone all that year on sabbatical. She said that, and then she said that she knew that you can't ask for any kind of a commitment at the beginning of a relationship,”  Steve paused.

“And?”

“And, well, she was about to just bolt out the door…"

“And?” 

“And so I knew I had to say something so that she would really know that I was serious.”

“The more you're dragging this out, the worse I'm imagining it is.”

“It's not. It’s no big deal.  What’s the worst thing you can imagine that I would do?”

“Propose.”

Steve was quiet.

“You did not. You would not. Even  _you_  would not do that. You would not do that to your poor friend Sam.  You did not propose to a woman right after you asked her out on a first date.”  

“Uh, I hadn't actually asked her out yet.” 

Sam just hung his head, one hand on his forehead, covering his eyes.

“Look, I didn't exactly propose,” Steve continued, speaking quickly, his voice a little higher than usual. “I just said, you know, do you want to get married?”  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and picked a piece of fuzz off the couch.  “And she said, is that a proposal.  And I said, yes and no, and—“

“Wait a minute,” Sam suddenly picked his head up, his expression changing to disbelief.  “Why aren't you miserable?  Did she say yes? She’s as crazy as you are!”

It took a while for Steve to explain things to Sam’s satisfaction.  He was finally able to convince him that neither of them were crazy, or at least not crazy enough that he had anything to worry about immediately.  By the time they each went to bed, Sam was cautiously optimistic, and Steve was still recklessly optimistic.

***

 

Peggy called Angie the moment she got home. “Can you come over? Something happened with my st—Steve."

Angie hadn’t asked for any further details on the phone.  Her car screeched to a halt in front of Peggy's house in less than five minutes. Peggy had left the door ajar and was sitting on her couch, still trying to take in how much everything had changed since she had last sat there this morning.  She was still sitting on her coat, which she had taken off but hadn’t bothered to hang up.

Angie came in, wearing boots, a down coat, and flannel pajamas. Her hair was in disarray, and she had mascara smeared under her eyes. When she took off her boots, she was barefoot.

“What happened to you?” Peggy asked.

“I was settling in for the night, taking off my makeup and getting comfortable. You said come right away, so I came right away. What happened?”

“He came by my office, and we kissed...for a while. And then I was saying all these reasons why we couldn't date, not important things, really, like how he was a student and our age difference and so on.”

Angie frowned and rolled her eyes.

“And then I blurted it out, that I didn't want a short-term thing or a long-distance thing and wouldn't he be leaving after a year and maybe I would be overseas next year.”

Angie's eyes widened.

“I know. I said something guaranteed to send someone running for the hills.  And I started to leave.  I said I knew I sounded crazy and desperate.”

“He blew you off?” Angie said, putting her hand to her mouth.

Peggy slowly shook her head.  “He asked me if I wanted to get married,” she answered.

“He proposed?” Angie nearly shrieked.

“Right, that’s what I said.  Is that a proposal?  He said yes and no.  No that he wasn’t expecting an answer right then, and he’d much rather do it properly with a ring and everything later on.  But yes in that as far as he was concerned, that was where the relationship was going.”

“So...he called your bluff. Or laid his cards on the table? What’s the right metaphor?”

“We’re not engaged, exactly,” Peggy continued, not answering her question.  “But I guess we’re starting this relationship with the understanding that we see it becoming that serious.  He said his mind was made up, and so I guess if I do want to get married, I can just let him know.  We’re maybe engaged to be engaged.”

“Like 16-year-olds?”

Peggy laughed in spite of herself.

“No, no,” Angie said excitedly, off on another train of thought already. “You know what it is,” she said as she pointed her finger at Peggy repeatedly.  “It’s like, like a Jane Austen novel.  Where you’ve been spending time with each other for months, but because of social conventions, you’re not dating.  And then the first time you’re left alone in your sitting room, you get engaged.”

“I don’t have a sitting room,” Peggy pointed out automatically, although that really wasn’t the issue.

“You know,” Angie continued, “I just have to say that this is a lot more interesting to follow than anything I’m watching on tv.  And every day there’s some kind of twist, like a fight, or a proposal.  I wonder what will happen tomorrow.”

“I hope nothing too exciting; I’ve had enough excitement, I should think.”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Angie said, standing up.  “In the meantime, I’m going to wipe my face off and get a snack. You go change or whatever you need to do to get comfortable and be back here in five minutes.  You’ve given me the short version of what happened; now I need the long version.”

***

 

The next morning, Peggy couldn’t sit still, her entire routine thrown off.  She didn’t really want her breakfast, couldn’t concentrate on reading the paper, and couldn’t decide what they should make for dinner later.  Steve had agreed to dinner at her house as long as he could help cook.  She wouldn’t be seeing him until the evening.  It was barely one o’clock, and she didn’t know what she would do with herself for the rest of the day.

In desperation, she called Angie.  “I can't sit still. I feel like I'm going to lose my mind,” she confessed.

“Cold shower?” Angie offered helpfully. 

“No, more a long the lines of a hot one, and preferably not alone.”

“Oh my, that is serious,” Angie said.  “Listen, why don’t you clean yourself up, shower alone, whatever, and I’ll be over in an hour.  I’ll help you pick out a recipe and we’ll go grocery shopping. Ok?”

“Ok,” Peggy agreed, for once relieved to have someone telling her what to do.

Peggy showered and dressed.  The doorbell rang punctually one hour later and Peggy opened her front door to find Steve standing there.

“You're early,” she said, stunned.

“Angie told me to come over; I hope it's ok.”

“Of course,” she said.  “Come in.”

“I didn't know that you and Angie talked,”  Peggy continued, as they walked into her living room.

“Oh, we don't. She told Sam who told me. Are you mad? I can leave.”

“Of course I'm not.”  She motioned for him to sit down.

They sat facing each other on the couch. She had absolutely no idea what to say or to do. 

“Well,”  she began, but didn't say anything else. 

“You  _are_  uncomfortable,” he said. “I'll leave. Really, it's no problem.” He started to stand.

She remembered  what Angie had said, that sometimes she was too closed off.  She didn't want to be that way with him. “No,” she said, grabbing his hand. “Please don't. I do feel awkward,  but it's so much better than what I was feeling before you came, which was misery.  It's just so new, so different that I can say anything I want to you I guess I don't know where to start.  But I’m so glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad, too,” he said, smiling, still holding her hand, relaxing a little.  For a moment, he was afraid she was regretting the whole thing.

After the initial uncertainty, they spent a wonderful afternoon together.  They picked a recipe, stopped for an afternoon coffee, then did the grocery shopping, meal preparation, and some cooking.  They were both still utterly enthralled by the novelty of spending time together without having to find some excuse or to depend on any external circumstances.  They talked easily about anything they wanted, each topic reminding one of them of something else they wanted to say, finally free of having to attempt to be professional.  And best of all, they could casually touch each other.  When they walked, she took his arm.  When they sat and had coffee, he held her hand.  And as they worked together in her kitchen, he kept putting his hand on the small of her back.

At about five-thirty, they separated for a while.  Peggy had said she had wanted some time to shower and change since it was their first official date, and Steve went home to do the same.  He was due back at eight o’clock on the dot.

***

“You should pack a bag,” Sam said as Steve ironed his shirt.

“Why? I'm just going over there for dinner.”

“Mm hmm.  You basically proposed to her last night, and although she didn't say yes, she didn't say no.  And the two of you have been eyeing each other for months like hungry dogs at a butcher shop window.”

“And you know how it goes.  After dinner you have dessert, then coffee or a drink, then you start talking or watch a movie or something, then it’s late and it’s snowing, and ‘Oh, it’s such a shame that you have to drive home in this bad weather, and why don’t you just…’ ”

“But we’re just still getting to know each other. It’s our first official real date. I’m sure she wouldn’t want me to, you know, sleep over.”  Steve said, emphasizing the words to indicate his meaning.

“So you can sleep on her couch.  I’m not saying that, just that I guarantee neither of you will want you to leave after a couple of hours.  Let's review. You're both adults and will be alone with each other.  Aside from your one final, for the next four weeks you have nowhere else to be, nothing else to do, and no one to answer to.  So just humor me, and take underwear, socks, and a toothbrush.  And promise you'll text me once every three days so I know you're alive.”

“All right, all right.  I'll do it just so you'll stop talking.”  He finished ironing his shirt, grabbed his backpack, and put a few things in that he would need for an overnight stay.  He would leave it in his car; he was sure he wouldn't need it.

***

It was five minutes to eight.  Peggy smoothed her dress a little after checking her sauce on the stove.  Everything was ready, and she didn’t feel nervous, just full of anticipation.

She had gone all out for the date.  She had managed to find an actual tablecloth in her closet and set the table with her good dishes.  Two candles stood in the middle, ready to be lit, and she had music playing softly in the background.  Overall, she thought it made a very good impression.

She hoped that she would, too.  She checked her appearance in her powder room mirror.  She was wearing a navy blue lace cocktail dress with a deep v-neckline and sheer three-quarter-length sleeves.  It was very much a dress for a date, the type of thing she hadn’t worn in quite a while.

Steve rang her doorbell punctually at eight, having sat down the block in his car for nearly ten minutes so he wouldn’t be too early.   She answered it almost immediately, like she had been watching out for him.

She opened the door to see him standing there, in a jacket and tie, a beautiful bouquet of red roses in his hand.  Her face lit up at the sight of him, but then another emotion that he couldn’t identify spread across her face, and she quickly wiped the corners of her eyes.

Although she had been carefully getting ready for an hour, she hadn’t expected him to go to as much, or even more trouble for her.  He hadn’t just gone home and changed shirts.  It was a real date, just like she had been thinking about a couple of weeks ago when she had gone to the opera by herself.  And it was with him.  It was simply too good to be true.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, concerned.

“No, no. I know it’s ridiculous, it’s just…you’re just so sweet, dressing up and bringing me flowers and everything, and…well, I’ve wanted to spend time like this with you for so long, and no one’s really brought me flowers like that before, I mean, not just on a simple date for no reason.”

He set the flowers carefully down on a table and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. Steve privately wondered what was wrong with the men of the world that a woman like her had such low expectations, but at the same time he was glad he could be the one to surprise her.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and he stroked her hair a few times.  “It’s not for no reason,” he said softly.

She sighed, relaxing into him, and holding him a little closer.  There was something so familiar and comforting about being close to him like this; she felt like she could stay that way forever.  But after a few moments, she pulled away from him slightly and reached up for a kiss, long, slow, and sweet.

Only after they separated and headed into the kitchen for a vase did he really take in what she was wearing.  She was always dressed up for class, but this was different.  The dress she was wearing was decidedly not professional, more low-cut and tighter-fitting than anything she wore to teach in.  He hadn’t really thought about what she would be wearing, but he supposed he had expected her to look the same as she did in class.  The idea that she had dressed differently, and that it was just for him to see, and no one else, was the most thrilling thing he had experienced aside from kissing her.

For all the work they had put into cooking dinner, neither of them ate very much.  It wasn’t even nine but was as dark outside as if it were midnight, and Peggy started to feel uneasy.  He would leave soon.  Even a few hours seemed too soon.  Even though they had spent the whole day together, and even though she would certainly see him tomorrow, she felt a great reluctance at the idea of him leaving her house.  She wasn't sure she ever wanted him to leave it; it felt so strangely right that he was there.

It wasn't that she wanted to sleep with him.  She did want to, desperately at times, but she could wait.  The important thing to her was that he stay.  She thought of him being there, even in another room, and closing her eyes knowing that he was nearby, and then when she woke up in the morning, knowing that he was already there. It seemed like the best possible thing in the world.

But she couldn't ask him to stay, could she? That would be pushing things too far, too fast, and she would seem needy and clingy.  Then she remembered what he had said last night.  She couldn't scare him off.  Could she just tell him what she wanted?  It was a revolutionary idea, that she could want something, and just ask for it.  It didn’t mean that she would always get what she wanted, but with him she felt it wasn't going to cause an argument or a problem. It was exciting and freeing, but at the same time made her feel sad.  What kind of relationships had she been having that this seemed like a luxury?  

"Steve?" she said, putting her hand on the table and sliding it towards him.  He immediately covered it with his own.  “I was wondering if you'd like to stay here tonight.  We don't have to, ah, that is, I have a guest room, or wherever you feel comfortable is fine, but I just thought...I like the idea of you being close."

A smile lit up his face.  "I like that idea too,”  he said, and he meant it.  He had already been counting down how much longer he could reasonably stay, and was irrationally hoping to be snowed in somehow.  Although this meant that he would never hear the end of it from Sam, it seemed like a small price to pay.

She got up and walked around the small table to him.  He stood and she put her arms around his neck as he slid his hands around her waist.  "So tonight, when I fall asleep, you'll be here," she said softly, their cheeks pressed together.  

"Mm hmm," he answered.  

"And tomorrow morning, when I wake up, you'll be here."  

"Definitely," he replied.

“That sounds absolutely lovely, darling.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he replied, pulling her just a little closer.

A short while later, they were settled on the couch with the last of their glasses of wine and a little dessert when an unpleasant thought occurred to Peggy.  “I just realized that you’ll probably want to go back to your place to get some things if you’re staying over,” she said, disappointed to have their cozy evening interrupted.  “Or, I can see what I can improvise for you here.  I know I have a new toothbrush you can have, and…”

“Actually, ah, I have everything I need for an overnight stay in my backpack.  It’s in the car.”

She was surprised but not displeased.  “Oh, that’s good,” she said, although she wondered why he happened to have all that with him.

“I wouldn’t want you to think that I…” he started to say, and then reconsidered.  He was about to say that he wasn’t assuming he'd be staying over, but then why would he have an overnight bag?  So he decided it was best to tell the simple truth.  “Actually, it’s that Sam—“ he stopped himself again.  Did he really want to tell her how much he discussed their relationship with Sam?

It was the third time that day, by Peggy’s count, that he had seemed to be hesitant to say something, or was correcting himself.  The first time had been when he had unexpectedly shown up at her door; that was understandable, she supposed.  The second time was that afternoon as he had been telling her about a tv show he watched, then had hastily added that he didn’t spend all his free time watching tv.  This was the third incident.  At first she had thought that this was just part of the normal awkwardness of getting to know someone, but she had started to form another interpretation.

She had known there would still be fallout from the fact that she had been his teacher all semester; she just hadn't been sure exactly when or how it would show up.  She had the impression that he was choosing his words very carefully around her.  It made perfect sense. If you had seen someone being highly critical of everything, you would expect them to be critical of you.

“Steve?” she said softly, putting her hand on his arm.

“First I just want to say that it doesn’t matter to me why you have an overnight bag with you. If you always carry a toothbrush and extra clothes with you, I consider that to be a delightful quirk, and I’m pleased to find out more about you.  Or, if you brought it with you planning on seducing me, then I’m flattered.”  He blushed and then laughed a little at her last comment.

“I want you to know I’m not looking for things to criticize about you,” she continued. "You know, I'm not presuming that this is an issue, but I hope you're not thinking that I'm some hyper-critical, impossible-to-please person. That's just my day job, and it's not how I approach my personal life.”

He hadn't realized until she said it that that  _was_  part of the problem. In spite of the time that they had spent one-on-one, he had also spent a lot of hours in her classroom, listening to her pick apart, well, everything.  Authors’ arguments, other students’ assertions, his own comments.  On some level, he was still expecting her to scrutinize everything he said.

He couldn't bring himself to say it, though.  "Yeah, I know," was all he managed to reply.

Last night, when she had momentarily panicked, he had really gone out on a limb for her.  And she sensed that it was time for her to do the same for him.  She had said she wouldn’t hurt him, but she had stopped short of letting him know how long she had been thinking about him, how much she enjoyed being with him, what he already meant to her. 

She put one of the throw pillows against the arm of the couch and told him to stretch his legs out.  When he was situated, she sat on the very edge of the couch with her feet on the floor, facing him.

“Now, are you comfortable?” He nodded. “Good,” she said, taking his hand in hers, “because I have a lot of things I've been saving up to tell you that I couldn't say before.”

“I like it when I say something sarcastic, and you sass me back,” she paused briefly.  “But I also like it when you don't say anything back and just smile. I love your smile.” 

“Really?”

“Yes, it lights up your whole face. It's irresistible.”

“You managed to resist it all semester.”

“That was also part of my day job. And now I'm off the clock,” she countered, smiling, and touching him gently on his chest with her free hand for emphasis.

“I liked it when you showed me how to play pool. You really didn't care if you lost because of me.”

“I'd have to be a jerk to encourage you to play and then be annoyed at losing.”

“I know, but I guess I've played games before with plenty of jerks.”  That was more-or-less a description of her entire dating history, she thought wryly.

“I liked sitting with you at the conference dinner.  It was the most fun I've ever had at one of those things.”

“When you lent me your jacket, I didn’t want to give it back. I wanted to sleep with it next to me because it smelled like you.”

“I like your curiosity, and your hopefulness, and your good manners, and the sound of your voice,” she let out all at once.  “In fact, I pretty much like everything about you.”

He had let his eyes drift shut, feeling content just listening to her. He felt like his heart might burst from the things she was saying.  He had hoped for a while that she might be interested in him, but he hadn't dared to imagine that she had been thinking about him as much as he had about her.  He was so blissful that he didn't immediately notice that she had stopped talking. 

“Steve?” she said, her voice coming from much closer to him.  

He opened his eyes. She looked serious. 

“I think I'm in love with you.  No, no. Strike that.  I'm sure I'm in love with you.”  And she kissed him very gently on the lips.

He was sure, too, but he was so overwhelmed, he couldn't form the words.  He nodded back at her.  Finally he asked, “Did you really mean all that?”

“Every word,” she answered.

He pulled her down to him on the couch.  She stretched out next to him and he scooted back and turned onto his side to make room for her.

They faced each other, half lying down.  He looked into her eyes, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “I’m in love with you, too,” he said sincerely.

After talking of marriage the night before, Peggy hadn’t expected it to be so thrilling to hear him say that.  Steve hadn’t realized how thrilling it would be to be able to say it.

He pulled her tight against his body, his fingers digging slightly into her hip.  He brushed his lips back and forth across hers.  It felt amazing, but it wasn’t enough.  She caught his lips and kissed him, then teased his mouth open with her tongue, deepening the kiss.

One kiss drifted into another for long minutes on end.  Or it might have been hours.  When they finally paused, she felt equal parts besotted with him and exuberant.  “And your eyelashes,” she said.  “I forgot to say I like your eyelashes.”  He beamed back at her, surprised and delighted.  

“You’re an obscenely handsome man, do you know that?” she continued, stroking his cheek with the back of her hand.  “You really shouldn’t be allowed to roam around on your own unsupervised.  It puts ideas in one’s head.”  

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to keep me right here, where you can supervise me.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.”

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Lovely Readers,
> 
> Thank you for your patience during my unplanned hiatus from this story. I just found it very hard to write anything for several months due to personal issues. I really appreciate your sticking with it and me, and I am already at work on the next part. I will be working through and answering all of the comments.
> 
> Thank you and Love,  
> Bitememarvelcanon

Peggy was curled up in her favorite chair, almost finished with a chapter of the novel she was reading. It was over a week after she had turned in grades, far enough from the end of the semester that she had really started to relax, but with three gloriously free weeks ahead of her. 

Her doorbell rang; it was almost certainly Steve, back from his afternoon exercise. They had fallen into a comfortable rhythm over the last week. After spending the morning together, they would go their separate ways for a while in the afternoon. By around four, they would meet back at Peggy’s and make dinner, then spend the evening together. Steve had continued to stay over every night in the guest room.

“You don’t have to ring the bell, you know,” she said, as he came in, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “You can just come in.”

“I don’t want to startle you. Besides, what if you were indecent or something?”

“What if I were,” she answered, raising her eyebrow and flashing him a wicked smile.

“No comment,” he answered carefully.

“Didn’t you go to the gym?” she asked, noticing how fresh and pressed he looked.

“Yeah, I was on the climbing wall for at least an hour.”

“There’s a climbing wall at the gym?”

“Yeah, it’s right by the front entrance. You can’t miss it when you walk in the door.”

“Oh, right, I…ah…forgot about that,” she said, glancing down at her book.

“Wait—you’ve never been in there, have you?” he asked, noticing how she had avoided looking at him.

“I’ve been meaning to go. It’s just I’ve been busy for the last…seven years or so. I suppose you think I’m terribly lazy.”

“No, not at all,” he said sincerely. “I’m just surprised. I got so used to lots of physical activity in the army that I can’t go more than a couple of days without a more intense workout. Sometimes I forget that not everyone’s like that.” 

“So is that what you usually do there—rock climbing?”

“Actually my favorite workout is the punching bag. It’s a great way to get your frustrations out. If you’d like to, you can come with me sometime and I can show you.”

Peggy considered for a moment. The idea of taking out her work irritations on a punching bag did have some appeal. She pictured Jack Thompson’s smug, smiling face. “Hmm…that’s not a bad—-“ She was interrupted by her cell phone ringing from the coffee table. 

“Saved by the bell,” Peggy said with a smile.

Her phone lit up with Angie’s name. Peggy picked it up somewhat hesitantly, already anticipating an interrogation.

“Well hellooo,” Angie said in an exaggerated, knowing tone, drawing out each word.

Peggy held the receiver a little further away from her ear. She grimaced slightly and tried not to sound irritated. Angie had been using this tone frequently with her since she had started seeing Steve a week and a half ago.

“Hello,” Peggy answered, trying to sound normal, but her voice a little higher than usual. 

“So, how are things?” Angie asked in the same tone.

“Fine,” Peggy replied evenly, smiling in spite of herself as Steve, who had stretched out on Peggy’s couch, looked up at her.

“Seriously,” Angie said, her tone changing to her more normal voice. “What’s going on? How are things with Steve? Tell me everything!”

Peggy stood up from her armchair and started casually walking to her downstairs office, so she could speak privately. “So I suppose you're returning my call. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to lunch tomorrow”, she said, pausing as she closed the door to her office.

“Is he there? Can you not speak freely?”

“I can now. Yes, he’s here, but I just went into another room. And there’s nothing new to report in the last two days. Everything’s going well. We’re spending a lot of time together, and we get along really well. Last night we cooked and stayed in. Tonight we’re going out to a movie. Nothing exciting to report.”

“Going out to a movie, that’s a big step,” Angie said.

“How’s that?” Peggy asked.

“Well, you haven't been to a movie with him before, right?”

“Right. I mean, unless you count the time with you, when we sat next to each other by chance.”

“Well, the first time you go to a movie with someone, there’s always a chance that they’ll display some behavior that will change the relationship. Talking during the movie, wanting to sit in the first row. I mean, who does that? The concessions stand alone is a real minefield. I can’t tell you how many blind dates I’ve had that were essentially over at the concession stand.”

“Why?” 

“What if they make you wait in a long line and just get a small diet soda? What if they get weird candy like gummy worms and eat it with their mouth open? What if they order—God forbid—a hot dog?”

“Angie, in all the times I’ve gone to the movie theatre, I have never seen anyone order a hot dog.”

“I know, that’s why it would be so disturbing. But someone must be eating them.”

****

A little after finishing her conversation with Angie, Peggy carefully poured a little milk into each of two teacups, and then poured the boiling water into the teapot. She set the timer for five minutes. She looked out the window over her kitchen sink, the sky that all-too-familiar shade of overcast. But for once she didn’t mind the winter here. It was warm and bright inside, and with Steve there, her house seemed like a cozy haven from the gray world outside.

She turned as she heard Steve’s surprisingly light step behind her. 

“I thought I told you to make yourself comfortable on the couch after you’ve been running around all day.”

“I can’t just sit there while you do all the work.”

“It’s just making some tea; not all that strenuous. Besides, I’m not sure i trust you to make a proper cup of tea,” she said, turning around and reaching for a package of shortbread biscuits.

“You could teach me,” he said.

Something about the way he had lingered on the word teach made her heart flutter a little.

“All right, but you have to move back a little. I can’t show you when you’re in the way.” She got out her second tea pot and filter to show him.

“Of course, professor,” he said with exaggerated deference, “the corner of his mouth quirking in a smile.” She smiled too; he hadn’t called her that in the week he had been staying at her house. He moved to stand behind her so he could look over her shoulder. “How’s this?” he asked

He was standing so close behind her that their bodies were almost touching. She could feel the heat of his breath on her neck. Of course they had already been this close, nightly, on her couch, their bodies pressed together, moving against each other as they kissed and kissed. But by some kind of unspoken agreement, they had confined that sort of contact to the evenings, after dinner on her couch. At the end of these “dates,” they would go to their separate rooms. But this was different. It was the middle of the afternoon, and he was flirting with her.

Peggy took a breath and tried to clear her head. “Well, first you set the water to boil, and then you take this tea scoop…”

As she picked up the scoop, he covered her hand with his.

“Like this?”

“Yes, you’ve got the idea.”

“And you scoop out the leaves into this filter. I usually do…ah…four level scoops.”

“Let’s see, one,…” he said, guiding her hand to the open tea tin and scooping the dry leaves out, then moving it back to the filter in the small teapot and emptying it in. As he reached towards the teapot, he had leaned ever so slightly forward, pressing his chest and hips against her back for a brief moment with each scoopful of tea.

“What’s next?” he asked, bending his head slightly so lips were next to her ear, his voice low.

“You..ah…we should…”

Unable to stand it any longer, she dropped the spoon onto the counter and turned around abruptly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling his smooth, warm skin under her fingertips. She pulled his mouth down onto hers and they melted into each other. He pressed her back slightly into the counter as his lips found hers again and again.

Steve knew that he was playing with fire. It was too soon in the relationship for anything more than kissing, he knew. But he was desperate for her, and she was unintentionally driving him crazy. It was the daily little familiarities between them that conjured up for him visions of the life he wanted to create with her and that made him want her even more. Seeing her in the kitchen making tea had seduced him more effectively than anything she could have done to entice him on purpose. 

The timer dinged repeatedly, forcing them to break away from each other slightly as Peggy reached to turn it off and then remove the filter full of tea leaves from the pot. Steve took a half-step back from her, forcing himself not to start again. Saved by the bell, he thought, but he didn’t say anything.

****

As they walked into the movie theater, they were surprised to find so many people there. Some blockbuster or other must have come out this weekend. There were long lines for both tickets and concessions.

“I guess we should have gotten here a little earlier,” Peggy said, “we might miss the beginning of the film.”

Steve scanned the area, then checked his watch. “I think we can still make it if we split up. How about if you get in line for concessions while I get the tickets?”

“All right, but what do you want?” she asked, a little apprehensively thinking of what Angie had said about hot dogs.

“Popcorn, of course. You can’t watch a movie without popcorn.” Peggy sighed a little in relief.

She hadn’t been waiting in line for long when Steve reappeared at her side. “How did you get the tickets so fast?” she asked.

“I went to the computer terminal for people who have bought their tickets on-line in advance. You can buy tickets there too; most people just don’t know it.”

“Very clever.”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve that you don’t know about,” he replied, smiling.

When they got into the theater, Peggy again remembered what Angie had said. Damn her for putting these crazy ideas in her head. And again, to her relief, Steve wanted to sit near the middle of the theater. He was consistently…normal.

As they settled into their seats, she smiled a little to herself, thinking of the last time they had been in a movie theater together.

“What?” he whispered, having seen the look on her face.

“Do you remember the last time we were at a movie together?” she asked.

“Yes, and you ruined it for me,” he said, taking a handful of popcorn.

“I ruined it for you? How?”

“I couldn’t concentrate on anything with you sitting next to me. All I could think about is how nice it would be to be able to hold your hand.”

“So is that why you’ve lured me out here? To make a pass at me?”

“Lured you? You were the one who suggested going to a movie,” he protested, blushing.

“Well technically, yes, I suggested it, but you agreed to it awfully quickly,” maintaining a serious tone. She tried and failed to keep the smile offer her face. She watched as realization dawned on his face.

“You’re teasing me,” he said.

“Yes, but it’s not my fault. You look so cute when you’re flustered. Seriously now, do you have a move that you make at the movies? I want to see your move.”

“I don’t have a ‘move,’ ” he said, still blushing.

“Oh come now, everyone has a move.”

“Do you?” he asked pointedly.

“Yes,” she answered. 

“Well, let’s see it then.”

Peggy yawned broadly and stretched her arms above her head in an exaggerated way, brining one arm down casually around Steve’s shoulder. He laughed a little too loudly. “Very subtle,” he commented.

Someone a few rows behind them shushed them, and Peggy looked back. It was still technically the previews.

They settled in and watched the movie. It was actually quite good, a political thriller. But Peggy found that even though the movie was densely plotted and well-written, she was still more interested in her date for the evening, and she glanced over at him frequently.

After a while, Steve yawned, and Peggy wondered for a moment if he was already that tired or found the film dull. But then he stretched his arms out in a very deliberate way and wrapped one arm around her shoulder. She smiled at him before slouching down and resting her head on his chest. 

“I hope you don’t mind if I steal your move,” he whispered in her ear.

Peggy smiled and wrapped her free arm around his waist, snuggling closer. She found that she didn’t mind at all.


End file.
